


The Weight of Water

by citsiurtlanu



Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Iron Man (Comic), Marvel
Genre: Alternate Universe, Drama, M/M, Romance, Titanic AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-15
Updated: 2012-11-16
Packaged: 2017-11-18 17:14:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 31,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/563470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/citsiurtlanu/pseuds/citsiurtlanu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tony Stark is a rich socialite who's reached a dead end in his life.  Steve Rogers is a poor artist who works from job to job.  Both of them are passengers on the biggest ship in the world.  Yup, it's a Titanic AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So the most important thing to know about this fic is that while I promise it's not a carbon copy of the script, it does follow the plot of _Titanic_ pretty closely (though with some significant changes), so if that bothers you, this may not be your thing. Otherwise, woo?
> 
> There is one sexytime scene and it has top!Tony. It appears at the end of part one so if that's not your thing you can just skip it and go to part two.
> 
> Also, speaking of warnings, they can be found here if you really need to know them: <http://ashei.livejournal.com/1915.html>
> 
> Also I wrote this fic way before [Crossfire](http://archiveofourown.org/works/540911), it's just that I had to shelve it when the big bang rolled around. I only wish I could put out 30k in less than a month. :|
> 
> Thanks very much to my super special awesome pal [dyaoka](http://dyaoka.livejournal.com/profile) for betaing for me!! If there are any fails here, it's all on me, man.

_I’ve waited here for you forever._

 

In the end, tonight’s just like any other night—dinner with other people who have means and wealth, flanked on one side by a fiancée he doesn’t love and on the other by a father he doesn’t know how to ignore.  And maybe in the end, that’s exactly what’s led Tony Stark to the back of the ship this evening, stomach full of whisky, lungs full of bitterly cold air.  Tonight is the same as last night, which was the same as the night before and will be the same as the night tomorrow.  Sure, the place might change—one night they might be in Europe, another night in America.  Or maybe, like tonight, they’ll be in the middle of the Atlantic, sailing on the biggest damn ship ever made.  The ship of dreams, people had called it.

                Yeah, right.  More like ship of—ship of—

                Well, he supposes he’s a bit too inebriated right now to really come up with a proper rebuttal.

                It doesn’t matter, anyway.  Nothing matters.  Just a few more minutes, and he won’t ever have to worry about anything ever again.

                His face is dry as he climbs over the railing, carefully turning around to look at the churning water below, the wind whipping against his face.  He doesn’t cry.  He never cries anymore.  His father had rid him of that impulse out of him long ago.  Still, his heart is heavy as he closes his eyes for a moment, wishing… things didn’t have to be this way.  Wishing that his father could just accept him for who he is.  That he could stop feeling so damned ashamed about whatever Tony chooses to do, that he could give his blessing to let Tony work on things besides damn weapons all the time.  But Howard Stark is not a man of change, and Tony knows—so long as Howard’s around, Tony can’t ever be happy.  And Howard will always be around.

                That is, of course, unless he lets go.

                “Wait,” comes a voice from behind him, and Tony is so shocked, he almost falls off by accident.  He manages to tighten his grip on the railing, turning a bit to glare at the intruder.  What kind of idiot is out here at this time of night?

                “Go away,” he says, but as he looks the newcomer over, he is suddenly struck by several things at once—the blue of his eyes, the broadness of his shoulders, the largeness of the hand outstretched toward him, as though that alone will somehow keep Tony from falling.  At the same time, though, he takes in his rumpled clothes and filthy boots.  Third class.  This man is from third class.  What is he talking to him for?

                “No,” the man replies, undeterred.  “You’re on the wrong side of the rail.  Won’t you come back?”

                Tony rolls his eyes.  “Actually, I’m on the right side of the rail for what I have in mind.  So you can go off now and… and be poor.  Thanks for pretending to care, though.”

                “I’m not pretending.”  Very slowly, the man inches closer so that he’s leaning against the rail as well, turning his head to look at him.

                This, Tony has to admit, is a little distressing.  The man’s face, up close like this, is exquisite.  It’s ridiculously open and honest—he’s never seen anything like it before.  How can he, when he’s dealing with backstabbers all the time?  “Yes, you are,” he replies, forcing himself to look away.  “You don’t know me.  I’m just a suit.”

                “You’re more than that,” says the man.  “You’re someone I want to get to know, if you’d just give me a chance.”

                “Stop it,” Tony says, scooting a little away from him.  Are all third-class people like this?  So—so nosy and persistent and definitely not striking a chord somewhere inside him?  “I’m going to let go.  And you’re not going to stop me.”

                The man sighs, and Tony looks again to see him taking off his boots.  “You seem pretty sure of that,” he says.  “But alright.  If I can’t stop you, then I’m gonna go in after you.”

                “W-what?” Tony stammers.  He shimmies away again.

                Calmly, the man sets his boots off to the side, shrugging out of his jacket.  Heavens, his shoulders must be a mile wide—but Tony forces himself to clamp down on that thought before it can progress any further.  It’s not right, he tells himself.  It’s improper.  Immoral.  “I’m gonna go in after you,” the man continues, going back to leaning against the rail.  “Won’t be fun.  I hate the cold.  But I’ll brave it for you.”

                What on earth is going on?  Has Tony already died, only to wake up in some sort of limbo where people care about him for some reason?  “I… think the fall alone would kill me,” he manages, still trying to wrap his head around the mystery that is this handsome stranger.  “It won’t be cold.  It’ll be like… it’ll be like flying.”  He’s always wanted to fly.  Maybe not when the end result is breaking his neck upon impact in the freezing waters below, but he figures it’s better than never flying at all.

                “Oh?” asks the man.  “You like to fly?”

                Tony frowns.  This is hardly the direction he’d expected the conversation to turn toward.  “I—yes—but what does it matter to you?” he snaps, trying to regain his composure again.  “Go away.  You’re distracting me.  Let me go in peace.”

                The man reaches out, and the next thing Tony knows, another hand is covering his own.  It’s so warm.  “You’re not going to let go,” he says very softly.

                Tony shudders.

                In that instant, he knows the man is right.  He can’t let go, not now.  Not… not when there’s someone so—so _annoyingly persistent_ that Tony honestly thinks he’ll follow him in when he falls.  That, he tells himself, is the only reason.  It has nothing to do with the fact that this stranger is the first person who’s ever shown any sort of concern for him since his mother died.  “You’re… ridiculously stubborn, aren’t you?”

                “No,” the man says, and as though he can sense the change in Tony’s mood, he flashes him a brilliant smile, and Tony’s heart may or may not have stopped right then and there.  “I’m Steve Rogers.”

                “A p-pleasure,” Tony says, and strangely enough… he kind of means it.  “Anthony Stark.”  He hesitates, looking down, then looks back up at… Steve.  “I’d let go of this rail here to shake your hand, but, you know.  You’ve annoyingly made me not want to die anymore.”

                Steve lets out a soft, nervous laugh, shaking his head.  “Right.  Just… hold still.  I’ve got you.”  And before Tony knows it, Steve’s arms are wrapped around him, hauling him back over the rail.  _Christ_ , he’s strong.  In moments, he’s standing on solid ground again—that is, if the floor of a ship’s deck counts as solid ground, looking up at Steve.  He’s tall, too, he can’t help but notice.  Tall, blond, and handsome.

                Shyly, Steve sticks out his hand, smiling again.  “Nice to meet you too, Mr. Stark.”

                “Call me Tony,” he replies hastily.  “I think you’ve earned the right to address me by my first name.”  Besides, Mr. Stark is his father.  He doesn’t want to be his father.  Nonetheless, Tony takes his hand, shaking it before it occurs to him that Steve doesn’t seem to recognize him.  How is that possible?  To Howard’s great displeasure, Tony’s been caught up in a number of well-publicized, scandalous incidents in both America and Europe.  Finding him in bed with another man a month ago had been the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back.  But Steve here… who knows.  Maybe he lives under a rock normally.  He certainly looks poor enough for that.

                “Tony, then,” Steve says.  “Your lips are blue.  Come here.”  And he wraps his discarded jacket around the other man.

                “I—wait,” Tony begins, looking down at himself.  “What are you doing?”

                “You’re cold,” Steve replies reasonably, as though he’s explaining that the sky is blue.  “You need this jacket more than me.”

                First this man saves him, then he keeps him warm.  This _can’t_ be real.  It’s too strange.  “Thanks,” he mumbles after a minute, hunching over and pulling the jacket closer, shivering.  He hadn’t realized how chilly it was out here earlier.  At the time, he hadn’t cared.  But now he does, and Steve’s jacket is around him, warming him.  Is it leather?  It smells like leather.  Probably the only nice thing he owns, based on the rest of Steve’s clothes.

                “You’re welcome,” Steve says, then leads him over to a bench and sits down, pulling him along.  “So… do you wanna talk about it?”

                Tony looks away.  “Not particularly.”

                “You sure?” Steve asks.  Tony fights the urge to glance back at him.  Seriously, those eyes of his—God.  He could get lost in them.

                “Positive.”  He laughs bitterly.  “What is there to say, anyway?  I’m a sad, rich man.  For all you know, I just heard that I lost all my stock.”  Men have killed themselves over much less, after all.

                “Maybe,” Steve says, sounding contemplative.  “But I don’t think that’s it.  I think it’s something else.”

                _It’s everything_ , Tony desperately wants to say, but he holds his tongue.  No matter how unreal Steve is, Tony still finds it impossible to believe that the other man would want to hear his life story.  “It’s nothing,” he replies at last.  “Really.  You should stop worrying.”

                “Impossible,” he hears Steve murmur.  And suddenly, the other man’s arms are around him, holding him tight.  “Well, whatever it is, Tony… I hope you can overcome it.  Everyone deserves to be happy.”

                “R-right,” Tony manages.  Is… is Steve _hugging_ him?  It’s the strangest thing he’s ever felt.  When was the last time he was hugged?  He can’t even remember.  Swallowing, he finds himself melting into his arms.  He’s warm, so warm.

                Then he hears the clack of heels against the deck, looking up in time to see… oh.  Whatever this is—a dream, or limbo, or something else—it’s over now.  Time to go back to reality.  “Sunset,” he greets, reluctantly pulling away from Steve’s embrace and standing up.  “It’s freezing.  What are you doing up here?”

                Sunset crosses her arms, raising an eyebrow and watching him coolly, barely casting a glance toward Steve.  “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

                “Just enjoying the evening outside,” Tony says lightly, as though the past fifteen minutes had never happened.  He turns back to Steve, hoping he also won’t mention a thing.  “Steve, this is Sunset Bain.  My… fiancée.  Sunset, this is Steve Rogers.”

                “Charmed,” Sunset replies dryly.  Tony can see Steve open his mouth to acknowledge her in return, but she’s already looking away again, talking over him.  “Your father has been looking for you.  He wants to talk about the merger before we reach New York.”

                Tony holds back his sigh.  How exactly had Steve persuaded him to not jump again?  “Of course,” he says wearily.  The merger.  It’s the only thing Sunset cares about, no matter how much she tries to pretend otherwise.  Money and power—and she’ll have it all once they’re married.  “Let’s go back, then.  Steve… it’s been a pleasure speaking with you.”  He takes Sunset’s arm, but finds himself lingering.  Steve is like no one he’s ever met before, and somehow… he doesn’t want him to disappear back into steerage, where he’ll never see him again.

                Suddenly, an idea springs to mind—a glorious, wonderful idea, sure to displease both Sunset and his father.  Hell, why not?  He might as well have _some_ fun on this dreadful ship.  “In fact,” he continues, “why don’t you have dinner with us tomorrow?”

                “Really?” Steve asks.

                “Don’t be ridiculous,” Sunset scoffs, one eye twitching.  “He doesn’t want to do that.”

                Tony gives Steve an easy smile, feeling a little more like himself now that he has a plan to piss people off.  “Sure he does.  Right, Steve?”

                “Uh,” Steve says, eyes darting between him and Sunset.  A beat, then—“Yeah.  I’d like that.”

                Tony beams, clapping him on the shoulder.  “It’s settled, then.  Father can escort Sunset, and I’ll meet you on the Grand Staircase tomorrow evening.  I’ll see you then, Steve.”  Before he can forget, he sheds Steve’s jacket, handing it back to him.  “And… thanks.  For everything.”

                Steve accepts the jacket, looking up into his eyes.  “You’re welcome, Tony.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

                “Tomorrow,” Tony agrees.  He still doesn’t want to leave him, but with Sunset clinging to his arm, he doesn’t have much of a choice.  But it’s okay now.  Just imagining his father’s face when he introduces Steve will be enough to get him through the evening.  He then turns back to Sunset, lips curving upward slightly—he can’t quite bring himself to smile for her like he did for Steve only minutes ago, but it’ll have to do.  “Come on,” he tells her.  “Let’s see if they’ve broken out the brandy by now.”

 

He’s already in his sleepwear that evening when Sunset lets herself into his room, looking around and frowning.  “I see that you once again have no plans to invite me to your bed tonight,” she says, sounding testy as she picks up a small object from his desk, prodding it.  “What is this, a turbine?  Did you make this after dinner?”

                “Putting it together helps me sleep,” Tony says.  No matter how much his father disapproves of him building anything that doesn’t have the potential to blow things up or kill people, he just can’t keep his hands still.  He likes to be able to take a design, revise it in his head so that it works on a miniature scale, and then assemble it.  It produces such little voltage that it’s practically worthless, but isn’t that what his life has amounted to, anyway?  He turns, smirking a little at her.  “And I’m sure you know that sleeping together before marriage is scandalous and improper, and we wouldn’t want that, would we?”

                Sunset scoffs, setting the turbine back down.  “Tony Stark wants to be a proper gentleman,” she says.  “I never thought I’d see the day.”

                Neither had Tony, if he’s being honest.  Once upon a time, he’d have been happy to take Sunset to his bed, and they both know it.  Once upon a time, he’d been in love with her.  It was just _so rare_ to find a girl who was not only beautiful, but who could follow along when he started talking about turbines and engines and machines.  He’d thought she was perfect.

                Then his father had pressured Tony to propose to her, and things had fallen apart from there.

                “It’s the ship,” he explains.  “It makes me feel emasculated if I don’t act like a gentleman.”

                “I see you’re back to old joking self,” Sunset says, and for a second, she almost looks genuinely charmed.  Then the moment passes, and she reaches into her pocket to produce a small box.  “Nonetheless, I know you’ve been… discontent lately.  And though I would have _hoped_ that you would confide to your future wife about this… perhaps this will help.”

                Tony looks down at the box.  Unless there’s somehow a literal ticket to freedom in there, or perhaps a tall, blond man with great arms, he’s doubtful.  “Is the gentlemanly course of action to take the box from you and open it myself, or wait for you to do it?”

                “You’re hopeless.”  Nonetheless, she cracks open the box, and Tony blinks, peering inside.  “This is the ring I intend to present you with at our wedding ceremony.”

                “Uh,” Tony says.  “This is… some ring.”  It looks like silver—or maybe it’s platinum.  Encased within it is a massive blue stone, bigger than anything he’s ever seen.  He flounders for a moment, trying to find something diplomatic to say that isn’t _when will people remember my favorite color is red_ , then eventually manages, “What is this, a sapphire?”

                Sunset makes a faint _tsk_ ing sound.  “No, dear.  It’s a diamond.  It was once worn by Louis the Sixteenth… and today it’s the most valuable jewel in the world.”

                It still looks like a sapphire to him.  What’s the point of a blue diamond if people are just going to mistake it for a lesser gem?  “Oh,” he says.  “…You know, that basically means that whatever I got you is worth less than this.  You remember what I said earlier about feeling emasculated, don’t you?”

                “Don’t worry about it,” she purrs, slipping the ring onto his finger before he can object and looking at their reflections in the mirror.  “We’re brilliant, you and I.  Together, we can become the most powerful two people in America.  We can change the world.”

                “Yeah,” Tony replies absently.  Changing the world is something he wants to do, and yet he gets the idea that his vision is somewhat different from Sunset’s.  Beautiful, smart Sunset, who wants to marry him because his father owns Stark Industries.  He remembers telling his father once he was hoping to meet someone he could talk to, someone whose company he enjoyed.  Someone who could look at him and have no expectations based on his name or his family.

                Howard had laughed him out of the room.  Then he’d come after Tony later, screaming at him that his name and connections were the only worthwhile things about him.

                Tony had stopped sharing things with him after that.

                Now he’s wearing this hideous ring, looking at the two of them in the mirror.  He can’t share anything with Sunset, either.  Is this really the rest of his life?  Surrounded at all times by people who couldn’t give less of a damn about the man underneath the clothes and the name?  Steve has saved him once, but he’s starting to feel like there really isn’t anything stopping him from trying again.

                He inhales, exhales, then takes the ring off, offering it back to Sunset.  “Yeah,” he says again.  “It’ll be fun.  Really, really fun.”

                He’s never wanted to punch a mirror so much in his life.

 

“Nice.  You’re an artist, huh?  Can you draw me?”

                Steve blinks in surprise when his drawing pad is suddenly covered in shadow, glancing up and shielding his eyes to see who the newcomer is.  “Tony?” he manages, wondering if this is really the case.  Why would he be here, though?  Steve would think that he has other obligations, doing… whatever people like him do.  But his eyesight adjusts enough so that he can make out the other man’s goatee in the glare, and he finds himself smiling.  It _is_ him.  “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

                Tony shrugs elegantly, and now that he’s in the sun, looking relaxed and confident—so unlike the desperate man from the night before—Steve has to admit, he finds him striking.  “I was looking for you, actually.  Do you have a moment?”

                “Oh,” Steve says, quickly packing up his materials.  “Sure.”  He stands up, following Tony as he begins to walk around the deck.  “What did you wanna talk about?”

                Tony sticks his hands in his pockets as they walk, turning his gaze toward the ocean.  “I guess I just wanted to thank you again for last night,” he says.  “I think.”

                Steve frowns.  “You think?”

                “Sorry.  Scratch that.  I’m thankful.  Both for that and… your discretion.  When Sunset came.”

                He thinks back to last night, back to the woman who had come for Tony.  “Your fiancée,” he says.  “She doesn’t know what happened?”

                Tony snorts, moving toward the railing and leaning against it.  “God, no.  She’s part of the problem.”

                Steve blinks again as he moves up to stand beside Tony.  It’s rare to hear someone of Tony’s standing openly criticizing their spouse.  Or spouse-to-be, anyway.  “Really…?” he asks.  “Wanna talk about it?”

                “Do you want to stand around listening to my life story?”

                “Yeah,” Steve says immediately.

                Tony turns to stare at him, and Steve feels his cheeks flush a little at the scrutiny.  “Are you real?” he asks after a moment.  Steve just stares back, unsure how to answer that, and Tony continues, glancing away, “No one’s ever really listened to anything I have to say before.”

                That… is just about the saddest thing Steve’s ever heard, so he reaches up, placing his hand against Tony’s shoulder.  “Everyone deserves to have a voice.”

                To Steve’s dismay, Tony laughs at this, but he doesn’t shrug his hand away.  “You’re definitely not real,” he says.  “It’s not possible.  No one’s this… _caring_.  I guess I did fall off last night after all.”  He turns around to lean back against the rail, gazing at him again.  “Are you serious about wanting to listen to me?”

                “Of course I am.”  Honestly, Steve finds himself baffled by all this.  Tony has a fiancée, a father.  Don’t either of them listen?

                Tony tilts his head back, looking up on the sky, and suddenly he seems very subdued.  “It’s like a prison here,” he says at last.  “I know what you’re thinking.  I’m a first-class passenger on the biggest ship in the world and somehow I feel like that’s a bad thing.”  He sighs, closing his eyes, and Steve has to fight the urge to hug him.  “I don’t know.  It’s Sunset.  It’s my father.  It’s everything.”  One eye cracks open, squinting at Steve.  “Don’t get me wrong.  Being rich is great, no offense to you.  It comes with some pretty short strings, though.”

                Having never been rich himself, Steve has to admit he doesn’t actually know what Tony’s talking about.  He knows a few things about father issues, though.  “What’s wrong with Sunset and your father?”

                “Everything?”  Tony purses his lips.  “Alright, that’s not fair.  Or maybe it is.  What can I say?  Sunset wants to marry me because I’m rich and have a famous father, who gets mad when I want to design airplanes and thinks money made me soft and that everything I do is embarrassing.”  He pauses, then smirks.  “He has a point about the embarrassing part, I’ll admit.”

                Steve isn’t sure if he wants to press, so instead he says, “So why don’t you just leave?”

                Tony snorts, turning around to lean forward against the rail again.  He always seems to be fidgeting.  “I wish it were that easy.  He doesn’t like me, but he likes Sunset.  I don’t like either of them.  But he’s still my _father_.  And…”  He looks down, idly drawing an invisible pattern against the rail.  “…I guess I keep on telling myself that maybe he’ll learn to like me someday.”

                “Oh, Tony…”  Steve can’t help it anymore.  So he leans forward, wrapping his arms around him and holding him tight.  “I’m sorry he doesn’t like you.  I think you’re a perfectly fine fellow.”

                “T-thanks,” Tony manages.  “Christ, I’ve never met anyone so… huggy before.”

                Steve pulls away quickly at that, cheeks flushing.  “Sorry.  I’ll be more careful.”

                “No, don’t be,” Tony replies hastily.  “I didn’t mind.  Just making an observation.”

                “Oh.”  Well, it’d be awkward if Steve hugged him again, so he just holds still, face red.  “Anyway.  I think you deserve better than what they’re giving you.”

                Tony shrugs.  “Maybe.  I’m a grown man, though.  I can handle it.”

                “By almost jumping off of giant ships?”

                A slight grimace mars that perfect face of his, and Tony exhales sharply, staring back up into the sky.  “Point taken.  I was… just in a bad place.  Everything was building up.  I had to let it out.  I’m still upset.”  He falls silent for a moment, looking contemplative.  “…I think I feel better now, though.  Thanks to you.”

                Steve blinks.  “Me?”

                Tony arches an eyebrow at him.  “Do you see me talking to anyone else?  You… you’re like a breath of fresh air, Steve.  You don’t know who I am.  What I’m supposed to be.  And you _listen_.  Hell if I know why you’re spending time with me now, though.”

                Steve can think of a lot of reasons, aside from the obvious _well you tried to kill yourself and I’d really rather not have to stop you again_.  “I think you’re interesting,” he says.  “And you’re hurting, and I want to help you.  And I think there’s a lot to you that no one knows about, and that’s a shame.”  …Also, he’s really ridiculously good-looking.  But it’s probably best not to voice that thought out loud.

                “You like fixing hurt things, huh?”  Tony grins.  “I bet you like to rescue stray cats and dogs off the street.”  That is, in fact, exactly the sort of thing Steve likes to do, and he stammers as much as Tony laughs.  “Hey, don’t be embarrassed.  It’s a good thing.  We need more guys like you in the world.  But you don’t spend _all_ your time rescuing stray animals, do you?  You draw.”  Without warning, he plucks Steve’s drawing pad out of his hands, starting to flip through it before Steve can protest.  “…You draw the stray animals you rescue?  And here I thought you were kidding about that.”  He goes through a few more pages, and Steve quietly hopes to himself that maybe he’ll lose interest before he gets to the end.  “Pretty lady,” he says.  “Who is this?”

                Steve tries to subtly pry his drawing pad from Tony’s hands, but it’s a no-go.  Sighing, he leans forward to see what Tony is looking at.  “Her?  Her name is Peggy.  Met her while I was in France.”

                Tony looks ahead to the next few pages.  “France, huh?  You liked her.”

                “She was my friend.”

                “And?”

                Tony sure is nosy.  “We kissed once.  But then I wanted to leave, and she wanted to stay.  Paris is her home.”  He smiles a little wistfully, remembering her.  He hasn’t thought about Peggy in a while.  “She was really something.  Brave.  Smart.”  His gaze shifts back to Tony, though, and he continues, “But I don’t think I regret making the decision to go back to America.”

                The other man hums to himself, studying the drawings of her.  “You’re very good,” he says.  Then he flips to the next page, and his eyes widen at the same time Steve feels his ears turn red.  “Well, hel- _lo_ ,” he practically purrs.  “Here I had you pegged as a Boy Scout, but I don’t think I’d ever find _these_ in one of their notebooks.”

                Steve covers his face with a hand.  The nudes.  He’s found the nudes.  Worse, he’s found the _male nudes_.  “I… I…” he stammers uselessly, not sure how to make this humiliation go away.

                “Relax,” Tony says.  “I’m not going to show these to everyone.  Though I have to ask, are you—”

                “No!” Steve squawks before Tony can finish the sentence, even though he _is_.  But… but… he can’t risk scaring Tony away at this point with his… socially unacceptable tastes.  “It’s just—you know, to be an artist, you can’t just confine yourself to only the dames, or only faces, a-and the guys and gals in Paris are really willing to model a-and—”

                Tony snorts and waves a hand, cutting him off.  “Okay, I get it.  It’s alright.  Breathe.”

                Right.  Breathing is good.  Steve takes a few deep breaths, looking around, but no one seems to have paid them any heed, aside from the occasional glare directed at him and his clothes.  He looks back at Tony, who is lightly brushing a finger against one of the nudes, looking contemplative.  Then he flips back to the Peggy drawings, studying these again with just as much intensity.  “I bet you don’t find me very brave or smart,” he says softly after a long silence.

                Steve stares at him.  “What?  Why would you say that?”

                “You met me while I was in the middle of trying to get away from it all,” Tony replies.  “That’s… the opposite of being brave.  Or smart.”

                “Hey,” Steve says softly.  “Don’t beat yourself up over it.  The important thing is that you’re okay.  And you’re gonna get better.  I know you have some fight in you left.”

                Tony gives him a small smile, flipping back to the front.  “You’re extraordinary,” he says, and the words make Steve blush.  “You see people, and… you can understand them.  I’ve never met anyone like you before.”

                “And I’ve never met anyone like you,” Steve says, and he finds himself somehow breathless.

                “Yeah?  Is that good or bad, because really, I’ve heard both—”

                “It’s good,” Steve interrupts.  “You _are_ brave and smart, Tony.  You’re just hiding it.”

                Tony laughs quietly.  “That so?”

                Steve nods, and he places his hand against Tony’s shoulder, studying the crease lines around his eyes and lips when he smiles.  Tony really should do that more often.

                But then his brow furrows a bit, and he glances up at the deck above.  “Damn,” he murmurs.  “My father’s up there.  He’s probably looking for me.”

                “Do you really have to go?”

                “Yeah, it’s best not to get him too pissed off before noon.  Don’t worry; you’ll get to meet his charming self tonight.”  He pauses, worrying his lip for a moment.  “…No, maybe this was a bad idea.  You’re nice, and he’s mean.  He’ll say awful things to you.  Maybe you shouldn’t come.”

                “No, I want to,” Steve says quickly.  “I can handle whatever he says.”

                Tony looks back at him.  “Really…?”

                “Really.”  If anything, he supposes it’d be good to meet the kind of people Tony hangs around.  “It’ll be fine.”

                The other man still looks hesitant for a moment, but then he smiles broadly, and Steve finds himself wishing he could run a thumb over the crinkle of his eyes.  “Great.  Tonight.  I’ll see you then.”

                “Yeah.”  Steve reluctantly removes his hand from Tony’s shoulder, offering him a smile in return.  “Later, Tony.”

                Tony starts walking off, but he turns to wave before disappearing among the other passengers, and Steve waves back.  As soon as he’s gone, Steve turns to a fresh page in his sketchbook and immediately gets to work, hands itching to draw those eyes, that smile before he can forget what they look like.

 

_Please be early_ , he thinks to himself, watching all the entrances.  _Please be early.  Don’t be late.  Come on.  Come on._

                There.  Steve emerges from one of the stairwells, looking around and breaking into a smile once he sees Tony, and it’s all Tony can do to not melt on the spot.  He has a really great smile.  Does he know that?  Probably he does.  How can he not?  “Steve,” he greets, reaching out to take his hand.  “You’re early.”

                Steve blinks, glancing over at the clock on the wall as he shakes Tony’s hand.  “Um, yeah, I guess I am.  Is this a problem?”

                “No, this is perfect.  You’re right on time.  You know.  Right on time for being early.”  He looks Steve over from top to bottom.  He looks charming; really, he does, though it’s a shame that the leather jacket is the only thing of value he has, even if it looks divine on him.  “Though I’m afraid you’re never going to make it in like this.”

                “What?”  Steve looks down at himself as well.  “What’s wrong with these clothes?” he asks, sounding just a tad bit defensive.

                Tony laughs.  “Relax,” he says.  “I think you look wonderful.  But the maître d’ is never going to let you pass through those doors looking this way.”

                “Oh.”  Steve seems to deflate, prodding at his jacket mournfully.  “So… no dinner with you, then?”

                “Don’t be silly.”  Tony smirks and walks off, beckoning for Steve to follow.  “I realized after I left you earlier that this would probably happen.  Lucky for you, I happen to have several suits, and you’re free to borrow one for the evening.”  He casts another glance back at Steve.  Steve is taller by a couple of inches and so wonderfully broad as well, but one of the non-tailored suits should fit.  And if he stretches them out a little, makes the buttons strain… well, Tony can’t imagine complaining.  So it’s a win-win.

                “Oh,” Steve says again.  “That’s very nice of you, Tony.  Thanks.”

                “It’s nothing.”  They approach his room, and Tony cautiously opens the door, peering inside.  The coast is clear.  Last he saw, Sunset and his father had accosted the Osbornes and were currently chatting up a storm with them… so they should be fine for now.  “Come on.”  He ushers Steve inside, then shuts the door, heading for the armoire.  “Go get comfortable,” he continues.  “I’ll go find something.”

                He can hear Steve wandering around the room, no doubt looking at everything curiously.  He wonders if Steve’s quarters are anything like this.  Probably not.  “This is really nice,” Steve says.

                Tony smirks.  “You should see the mansion.”  He finds a tuxedo, then turns around, offering it to Steve.  “Here, try this on.”

                Steve turns away from a painting on the wall to look, taking the tux from him after a moment and spending some time just running his fingers along the fabric.  “You sure about this?  This feels expensive.”

                “I’m _positive._ ”  Besides, Tony has dozens of nice suits.  What does it matter to him if one has its stitches popped?

                “Alright.”  Steve looks around.  “Is there a place I can change…?”

                Unable to help himself, Tony just smirks again, waving one arm.  “We’re both men.  What do you need privacy for?”

                A flush works its way up Steve’s cheeks, but he nods a little tightly, shimmying toward the couch.  “Um, okay,” he says.  “…Don’t look.”

                Steve is shy, apparently.  Well, that’s fine.  Tony makes a big show of turning away, putting back the clothes he’d pulled out of the armoire—but as soon as he hears the sounds of Steve taking his clothes off, he pokes his head out and stares.  God.  Steve’s back is extraordinary, and Tony can’t help but watch his muscles ripple as the other man strips down.  Nngh.  He suspects that he’s been building up to this ever since he first laid eyes on him, but now he knows for _sure_ that he absolutely must have this gorgeous man, one way or another.

                When Steve starts putting on the suit jacket, Tony turns away again, hastily shoving everything back inside before shutting the armoire and turning toward him.  “Need help with that?” he asks when he sees Steve fiddling with the bow tie.  Without waiting for an answer, he jumps over the couch, bringing his hands up to help him secure it around his neck—and _oh_ , isn’t that quiet, sharp inhale of Steve’s lovely?  Tony’s lips curve upward, and he pats Steve’s chest when he’s done, then steps back.  “There we go.”

                “T-thanks,” Steve stammers, looking down at his clothes.  He looks quite dapper, if Tony may say so himself.  “So… think I can pass as one of you guys now?”

                Tony snorts, leading him back toward the door.  “Just keep your nose up in the air and pretend you have a lot of money, and you’ll be fine.  But really, you don’t want to pass as one of us, anyway.  You’d die of boredom.  Here, this way.”

                The maître d’ allows them into the dining room without complaint, and Tony takes the opportunity to drag Steve off to the side, looking around.  There’s Sunset, and his father is right beside her, still speaking with the Osbornes.  Good; they won’t notice him yet.  “Okay, here’s a crash course on who’s who,” he says, starting to surreptitiously point at people.  “There’s Charles Xavier; he’s brilliant, and I hear he’s a friend of Freud’s… next to him is Erik Lensherr, and over there are the Richards… I had a thing with Sue once, but that was a long time ago.  And the one waving at us now—” he stops to wave back—”is Janet van Dyne.  There’s her father, and there’s Hank… I was, ahem… of comfort to Janet when she was having marital problems once…”  He pauses to glance at Steve, who looks adorably scandalized, then continues, “Oh!  And there’s Pepper Potts.  Feisty both professionally and personally.  But she likes Happy more than me.”  He’s never quite gotten over that.  “Tiberius Stone is over there… my father caught me with him once, and let me tell you, that was _awful_.  See how they’re trying to avoid each other?  Though Ty is kind of a snake anyway so I guess it’s for the better.  At least he can’t blackmail me unless he wants to be caught up in a scandal himself.”

                Steve is blinking rapidly at all this, seemingly trying to take it all in.  Finally, he manages, his voice weak, “Is there anyone on the ship you _haven’t_ slept with, Tony?”

                “Good heavens,” Tony says, feigning offense as he places a hand over his heart.  “How could you say such a thing?”  His mind quickly goes over the evidence.  Steve draws nudes.  Male nudes.  They’d clicked earlier.  And he didn’t seem particularly offended when Tony had mentioned Tiberius.  Yes, he thinks.  This is going to be a perfectly appropriate reply—”After all, I haven’t slept with _you_ , now have I?”

                Steve’s eyes widen as he sputters uselessly, and right on cue, that charming blush stains his cheeks again.  “I—what—”

                “Relax,” Tony coos.  “I’m just joking.  Kind of.”  Not really.  “Oh, look.  My father’s sitting down.”  They seem to have chosen a smaller table—Sunset looks annoyed and his father looks angry.  Maybe Sunset’s just told him about Tony’s dinner guest.  “Okay, last chance, Rogers.  You can still escape the madness.”

                Despite Steve’s earlier—and continuing, he suspects—embarrassment, he shakes his head, looking at Tony.  “Told you I was going to have dinner with you tonight, didn’t I?  I’m not going to turn away just because your father might get mad.”

                Well, Howard is already mad from the looks of it, but what can they do now?  Steve’s not running away, so it’s probably best to just deal with it.  “Alright.  Stand up straight and follow me.”  He takes a deep breath—as much as he enjoys pissing his father off, it still kind of terrifies him.  Just not by enough so that he wants to stop, is all.  Then he saunters up to the table, nodding to Sunset before turning to Howard.  “Father,” he announces.  “I’d like to introduce Steve Rogers to you.  I met him up on deck last night, and I thought he would be enjoyable company.”

                “It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Stark,” Steve pipes in, offering his hand.

                His father is staring at the cutlery very intently, and for a moment Tony wonders if he’s just going to ignore the both of them.  Well, that’s for the better, he supposes.  But then Howard takes a deep, shuddering breath, turning his gaze up to glare at Tony.  “ _What_ ,” he hisses, “do you think you’re doing?”

                So much for ignoring them.  Tony motions for Steve to sit down, and Steve does so after lowering his hand, managing to look terrified and determined at the same time.  “What do you mean, what am I doing?” he asks casually.  “Dinner gets boring with just the three of us.  I thought he’d make for interesting company.”

                Sunset looks between the two of them.  “Dear,” she says, voice tight, “the man is from _steerage_.  Why—”

                “Steerage?” Howard interrupts, blanching.  “Are you trying to embarrass me, boy?”  He looks around, as though paranoid that someone might be listening in.  Then he leans forward, directing his glare at Tony again.  “What is _wrong_ with you?  How can you bring this filth in front your fiancée?  In front of _me_?”

                “With all due respect, sir,” Steve begins, and they both turn to glance at him in surprise—”I’m sitting right here.  Within earshot.  Sir.”

                Tony tries not to laugh, since laughing would just make his father even angrier.  In spite of all his blushing, Steve has a spine!  “That’s right,” he adds.  “Wouldn’t it be awful if everyone found out how you treat your guests?”

                “He’s not _my_ guest,” Howard snaps.  He looks like he wants to say more, but Sunset’s presence is stopping him.  For once, Tony is grateful that she’s around.  After a moment, though, he seems to force himself to pull away, even though he’s still seething, then turns to Steve, eyes full of contempt.  “So, boy,” he grits out.  “Do you _do_ anything?”

                Tony winces, suddenly realizing that in those four words his father has already shown more interest in Steve’s side of things than he has.  Nngh.  If they escape this dinner alive and Steve is still talking to him… he’ll have to fix that.  “Isn’t that a bit personal?” he asks, twitching at the idea of Howard mocking… whatever it is that Steve does.

                “It’s alright,” Steve says.  He looks very resolute, even though Tony knows he _has_ to be nervous.  “Mostly I just worked from place to place.  A few factory jobs, some construction ones… anything to get by.”

                Sunset wrinkles her nose, looking vaguely disgusted.  “You sound like you wander around aimlessly.  Do you not have a home?”

                “In Europe?  No.  I’m from Brooklyn.”  Howard scoffs at that, though Steve ignores him.  “I wanted to see the world, and I did.  Then I got homesick, so I got on board and haven’t looked back.”  He gives Tony a quick glance.  “I’m glad I did.”

                Tony beams.  Steve isn’t mad at him.  The moment is ruined, though, when Howard narrows his eyes, looking Steve up and down.  “Interesting,” he muses.  “How is it that a man of such little means or purpose owns any sort of refined clothing?”

                Steve blinks, glancing at Tony again, but then Sunset speaks—”That’s not his.  It’s yours, isn’t it, Tony?”

                Uh-oh.

                Tony swallows and slowly turns toward his father.  He can already guess what kind of conclusion he’s coming to, based on how many veins appear to be standing out.

                “How dare you,” Howard breathes.  “How _dare_ you do this to me again.  Have you no shame?”

                “Howard…?” Sunset says.  Tony wonders if she ever heard of the whole Ty fiasco.  Probably not.  He’s under the impression that his father worked very hard to hide it from her.

                Tony tries to keep his voice level.  “It’s actually not what you think—”

                “Quiet,” his father snaps.

                Steve stands up.  “Maybe I should leave,” he says quickly, and Tony tries not to look too upset.  After all of that… he’s just going to leave him here?  “It… it was an experience getting to know you, Mr. Stark.  Ms. Bain.”  He turns to Tony, offering his hand, and Tony dazedly shakes it.  “Thank you for the dinner invite, Tony.”

                Tony glances at Howard.  “Yeah,” is all he can manage, even though all he wants to do is apologize profusely.

                Steve just smiles, then turns and leaves.  It isn’t until he’s gone that Tony realizes that the other man slipped him a folded piece of paper, though he doesn’t want to chance looking at it now, not when both Howard and Sunset are glaring daggers at him.  But so long as there are other people around, Howard dares not raise his voice, so sitting with them is at least tolerable.  Finally, though, at some point they’re all immersed in their food, and Tony unfolds the note, reading it.  _Meet me at the clock._

                He looks back up, heart fluttering.  “I have a headache,” he announces.  “For which I have you to thank, Father.  So I’ll be heading back to my room.  Good evening.”  Before they can protest, he leaves the dining room, heading for the staircase—and there Steve is, facing away from him, studying the mural surrounding the clock.  “Steve?”

                Steve turns back to look at him when he speaks, breaking out into a broad smile.  “Tony,” he says.  “I was afraid you weren’t gonna come.”

                “Sorry.  I had to time it right.  Listen, Steve, I’m so sorry—I knew they’d be bad, but I didn’t realize just how awful—”

                “Shh,” Steve says, reaching out to place a finger lightly against his lips.  He’s still smiling.  “Don’t worry about it.”

                “Are you sure?”

                “Positive.”  Steve grins.  “Now why don’t I show you a real party?”

 

They stumble out onto the deck hours later, grinning ear to ear and clinging to each other’s hands.  At this time of night, the place is deserted, which is probably for the best.  “You were impressive in there,” Steve tells him as they make their way to the rail, gazing out over the ocean.  “I think you just about stomped out every rich-man stereotype they had.”

                Tony snorts, running a hand through his hair, damp with sweat, and Steve can’t help but find it beautiful—almost erotic, even.  “Believe me,” he says.  His voice is just a little bit slurred, but he seems to be as sharp as ever.  “Just because I’m supposedly a gentleman doesn’t mean I can’t handle my booze.”

                “Apparently,” Steve says, and they both laugh, even though it’s not all that funny.  But Steve is feeling light and happy, and he suspects Tony is feeling much the same way.  “You really working on all those things you were talking about?” he continues after a moment.  “The… the super…”

                “Superheterodyne radio circuit,” Tony supplies.  “Definitely.  It’s the future, Steve.  Radio tuners and stain-resistant steel and folding wings for airplanes.  Just because my father doesn’t like it doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about it all the time.”  He scowls.  “…I don’t know why I brought him up.  I don’t want to talk about him.  Let’s talk about something else.”

                “Okay,” Steve says, even as his heart flutters a little in his chest.  Tony—Tony is so _smart_ , and yet he’s actually spending time with him… some kid from Brooklyn who could never afford university, much less attend one.  They’re still holding hands, and he wonders if Tony is aware of this.  “I wonder if there are dolphins here.”

                Tony blinks at him, then laughs, turning to peer over the rail.  “Yeah, maybe.  Hopefully not in the direct path of the ship, though.  I think that would be unfortunate.”

                Steve follows his gaze.  The water is dark, and there’s nothing much to be seen down there.  “I’d like to ride one, I think.  Wouldn’t that be fun?”

                Tony lets out another soft laugh, eyes crinkling again.  “Most people in your position dream of money and status,” he says.  “You dream of riding dolphins.”  He lets go of his hand then, reaching up to lightly stroke his cheek.  “I’ve said it once and I’ll say it again—you’re unreal, Steve.”

                He shivers, but he doesn’t pull away.  “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

                “Good.  Because that’s what it is.”

                They fall silent then, with Tony’s hand still against his cheek as they just watch each other in the night.  Steve wants to say something, to _do_ something, but he’s not sure what.  Their faces are so close, Steve can make out all the different shades of blue in Tony’s eyes, even if the only lighting is coming from a dim lamp from a few feet away.  He really is beautiful.  Beautiful and smart and clever and funny, and yet, even with all those qualities, he’s still—he’s still hurting, and all Steve wants to do is hold him close and soothe that hurt away.  “You deserve better than what you have,” he finds himself whispering.

                Tony’s hand slides away, and the moment ends.  “Maybe,” he says, his fingers running against the cool metal of the rail.  “And so do you.  But we can’t always get what we want.”  He draws back then, looking at Steve, his eyes melancholy.  “I’d better head back before my father sends people out to hunt for me,” he continues wryly.  “Thank you for tonight.  I think that that was the most fun I’ve had in my entire life.  I’ll see you later, okay?”

                “Tony…” Steve begins, but he’s already walking off.  “Tony!”

                The other man disappears through the first-class entrance and is gone, leaving Steve there on the deck alone, freezing wind gusting through his hair.

 

Tony really needs to learn one of these days that unbridled drinking does, in fact, come with consequences.  Then again, would knowing that stop him?  Probably not.  Still, he thinks as he tries not to squint _too_ much at the sunlight filtering into the room, he should probably learn to exercise _some_ caution, particularly where Sunset is concerned.

                She’s not very happy with him.  Not that she’s said as much, but it’s obvious in the glare she levels at him as they settle across from each other in the promenade.  “I checked in on you last night after dinner,” she says stiffly, one dainty hand picking up a crumpet and spreading jam onto it.  “You weren’t there.”

                Tony just sighs, picking up his cup of coffee and gulping it down before refilling it.  It’s way too early for an argument, and he has an awful hangover.  “Maybe I was in the bathroom.”

                “Don’t lie.  Your father had someone go look for you.  He says they found you below decks with that vile man from dinner.”

                “He’s not vile,” Tony replies.  He downs another cup and refills it again.  God, he loves coffee.  “And are you two seriously at the point where you have to send people to go off and stalk me now?  Isn’t that kind of creepy?”

                Sunset takes a bite out of her crumpet, glaring at him again.  “It’s for your _safety_ ,” she says.  “I don’t know why you insist on ignoring it, but we all know what those of his class are like.  All he wants is your money.”

                _Like you’re any different._   And though Tony dearly wants to call her out on it, he holds back.  Saying those words would make her angry, and that would make his father angry, and then maybe his father would leave him for good and what would Tony do then?  Christ, he’s pathetic.  He inhales, exhales, thinks of Steve.  Steve with his blue eyes and his broad hands.  Steve wouldn’t want him just for his money.  Steve likes him.  Steve wants so badly to help him, even if most of the time Tony is convinced he can’t be helped.  Sure, he’ll go out and have fun and lean in real close as he thinks of kissing him… but in the end, he pulls away.  He has to.  His father’s leash is tight around his neck.  “…Well,” he says after a moment, “he didn’t get my money, so I don’t know what you’re so worried about.”

                “Forgive me for being _concerned_ ,” Sunset spits.  “Anyone who looks at you can tell you’re a man of wealth.  God forbid if someone tried to rob you.”

                How predictable of her to care more about his money than him.  It’s almost charming, except for the part where it’s kind of depressing.  Why does his father like her so much?  “Like I said, no one robbed anything.  Just let it go, okay?”

                “Let it _go_?” Sunset repeats, eyes flashing.  “How do you expect me to do that, when—when you likely are going to see him again?”

                She has a point, he supposes.  He does have every intention of looking for Steve once this dismal affair is over.  “Meditation?”

                Sunset makes a sound of disgust.  It really is a shame they can’t get along better, he thinks.  She’s not afraid to speak her mind in front of him.  Unfortunately, he really can’t get behind the stuff going on in her head.  “I don’t want you to see him again.”

                “It’s a good thing what you want isn’t the law, then, am I right?”

                “Is everything a joke to you?”

                Tony shrugs.  “If it’s funny.”

                Sunset carefully sets her own cup of coffee down, then stands up.  “I’m disappointed,” she says.  “We are to be _married_ , and yet you refuse to treat me with any respect whatsoever.”  She tosses her napkin into his face.  “Think about it, Tony.  Maybe eventually you’ll realize what you’re doing wrong.”  With that, she turns, stalking out of the room, and Tony’s pretty sure he’s not imagining it when the door seems to slam shut louder than normal.

                When she’s gone, he sighs, picking the napkin off his face and dropping it onto the table.  Then he pours himself another cup of coffee and downs it, because why the hell not.  He’s going to need it all if he expects to make it through the day.

                He’s emptying the pot when his father storms into the room, and he groans, leaning back in his chair.  “Did Sunset come running to you?” he asks.  “Are you here to defend her honor?”

                “Shut up,” his father snarls, and Tony winces, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment.  Christ.  It’s too early for this.  “Do you think I don’t know what you’re doing?  Do you think I’ve forgotten the sight of you in bed with that other scum?”

                Tony rubs his face with both hands, wishing he were elsewhere.  “How can I?  You humiliate me about it every chance you get.”

                “And you deserve it.”  Howard walks up to the table, eyes glinting.  “You are not to see that man again, do you hear me?”

                “It’s a free coun—”

                “I will _not_ have a freak for a son!” Howard screams, yanking the tablecloth off and sending utensils and dishes and uneaten crumpets everywhere as Tony cringes, automatically scooting back in his chair.  Before he can get very far, though, Howard shoves the table aside and advances on him, placing his hands against the armrests and leaning in close, breathing hard.  He sounds like a bull getting ready to charge.  “It is immoral,” he hisses.  “It is wrong.  It is illegal.  How are you so selfish, Tony?  Have you even given thought about what would happen if someone besides me catches you?  Do you know what it would do to our company?  To _me_?”

                Tony swallows.  No.  No.  Howard is trying to guilt trip him, and he’s not going to let it work.  He’s _not_.  “All we’ve done is _talk_ ,” he manages, and he hates how shaky his voice is.  He’s weak, so weak.  Just another thing for his father to criticize.

                Howard pulls away, though his gaze remains as intense as ever.  “Tony Stark,” he says, his voice steely, but softer—then again, he’d just been screaming.  “You are my only son.  My only successor.  All I have wanted is a child who I can be proud of, one who will follow in my footsteps.  Why do you continue to refuse to be him?”

                Because he likes designing things other than weapons.  Because he thinks there’s more to life than just being the richest and most powerful man in the room.  Because he wants to be _happy_.  But when he opens his mouth to say as much, nothing comes out.

                “Pathetic,” his father breathes, turning away.  “You could have been my greatest creation.”  He heads for the door, pausing there for a moment.  “You still can be.”

                Then he leaves, and Tony is left there alone among the scattered silverware and broken dishes, shivering in the morning sunlight.  The guilt thing isn’t going to work, he tells himself again.  Doesn’t matter if it’s his father or not.  It’s not going to work.

                It’s _not_.

 

Steve waits all morning for Tony to come down to the third-class deck, busying himself by sketching some of the people nearby, but the other man doesn’t appear.  So around noon, he leaves his spot and starts walking around the ship, trying to see if he can find him.

                Eventually, he does, and it’s the last thing he expects to see—there Tony is, staring listlessly out at the sea and looking as morose as he did on the night they first met.  What happened?  Before he can open his mouth to call out to him, though, Tony’s gaze shifts, and their eyes meet—but instead of waving or smiling or _anything_ , his face goes pale, and he disappears.

                Something’s happened, Steve realizes then.  He doesn’t know what, but he’ll be damned if he just lets Tony walk off like this.  So he circles around the deck again until he finds what he’s looking for—a place where he can climb up and over the rail of the top deck.  Once he’s up, he exhales sharply, straightening his jacket and looking around.  Hmm.  It’s unlikely he’ll be allowed to wander around up here alone for long, so the sooner he finds Tony, the better.

                After some time looking, Steve spots Tony at last—he’s sitting on a bench and staring blankly ahead at nothing at all.  But Tony’s gaze shifts again, prompting him to get up and attempt to run off.  Steve catches up, though, and grabs hold of his arm before he can get anywhere.  “Tony,” he says, spinning him around so that they can face each other.  “What are you doing?  Why are you avoiding me?”

                Tony tries in vain to pull free, looking around anxiously.  “Steve, no,” he begins weakly.  “I—I can’t be seen with you.”

                “Fine.”  Steve pulls them into a nearby room, which fortunately looks deserted, then shuts the door and looks at him again.  “There.  No one’s around to see us.  Now will you tell me what’s wrong?”

                “Nothing’s wrong!” Tony chokes out; Steve has never heard someone sound so unconvincing before.  “Everything’s—everything’s fine.  Perfect.”  He makes another futile effort to pull away.  “Look, thanks again for last night, but we’re done now.  I have no reason to see you again.”

                Steve frowns at him.  “What happened?” he asks, unable to take this at face value.  “Was it Sunset?  Your father?”

                “I—no, of course not!” Tony stammers, trying once more to step back.  “This is my own decision, Steve.  I don’t want to see you anymore.”

                The words sting, but Steve can’t quite bring himself to believe them.  Not yet.  “I don’t know about that,” he replies softly, and Tony stops squirming in his arms.  Sensing that maybe Tony’s going to start listening, he presses on—“Tony, I know it’s hard.  I know that for some crazy, insane reason, your fiancée only wants you for your money, and your father isn’t proud of anything you do.  I don’t know why, because I—I can’t understand how anyone can look at you and not see what I do.”  He sighs, glancing away for a moment.  “And I also know that no matter what your father does or says, he’s still your father.  And that’s not the sort of thing you can easily ignore.  But Tony… if you keep on listening to him, you’re going to die.  Maybe not physically, not for a long time.  But the rest of you… everything that I’ve come to like about you… that’s gonna burn out.  And you’ll be empty, and I can’t watch that happen.  All I want is for you to be happy, Tony.  That’s it.”

                Tony’s breathing hard, swallowing as his gaze slides downward toward his feet.  “I… I _am_ happy,” he says at last.  “I’m going to be happy.  I’m engaged and soon I’ll marry Sunset and—and my father will be happy.  Okay?”

                Steve pulls away.  “Say that again,” he says quietly.  “Look me in the eye and tell me you’ll be fine.”

                Slowly, Tony’s gaze drifts upward, and he takes a few more shuddering breaths before meeting his eyes.  “I’ll be fine,” he whispers.  He moves toward the door, but this time Steve holds still, making no move to stop him.  “I’ll be fine.  And—and if you ever come to me again, I swear to God I’ll have you arrested.”  With that, he vanishes, and Steve is left alone again, the room silent around him.

                “Dammit, Tony,” he murmurs, and he leans his head against the glass and sighs.

 

They’re discussing the merger again.  Sunset has pages and pages of legal documents signed by herself and Tony’s father strewn about, though Howard has his own pile to match.  They both look absurdly pleased.  Then again, Tony supposes it’s not so strange after all.  They both stand to gain quite a bit once their companies become one… and yet, he finds it really hard to give a damn.  He can’t stop thinking about Steve.  Beautiful, hopeful Steve, who had looked so terribly stricken when Tony had rebuffed him.

                But, he reminds himself, he did the right thing.  Steve… Steve is just some guy.  Some awful, immoral guy.  Never mind that he’s more honest and real than anyone Tony’s ever known.  He’s a nobody.  It’s not his approval he needs; it’s his father’s.

                “…And your government contacts should serve us well,” Howard is saying.  “They’ll want weapons.  War is approaching the Balkans; I can smell it—”

                Tony tunes him out, and for a moment, he stops thinking of Steve, his mind turning instead to his future.  Running a company with Howard and Sunset.  Designing weapons that can explode and pierce and kill.  Never again making a single decision on his own.  Maybe leading a life his father will finally be proud of.

                “—Perhaps we could fire a few hundred of these workers, as I see no use for them—”

                And then Tony realizes that he doesn’t actually give two shits about whether or not his father is proud.

 

He finds Steve at the bow railing, facing out toward the ocean as his hair is blown by the wind.  For a moment, Tony just stands there, taking the chance to admire the way he looks, even from behind.  Casual, but poised… and yet the way his shoulders seem to be hunched ever so slightly seems to indicate that he’s not entirely happy.  And that’s because of him.  Tony.

                He hesitates for a moment, wavering on the spot.  He’s hurt Steve.  What if Steve doesn’t care about him anymore?  It seems unlikely, but… it still wouldn’t be a surprise.  After all, he’s no stranger to losing interest in people.  Would it really be such a shock if someone as amazing and kind as Steve lost interest in _him_?

                Still, he’s never been one to just give up.  At the very least… he should see.  Make sure.  “Hello, Steve.”

                He can see Steve’s body stiffen, and for a terrifying moment, he’s afraid that Steve is just going to ignore him, to pretend he never even heard him.  But that moment passes, and the other man turns to face him, a series of expressions flashing across that handsome face of his.  Shock.  Anxiety.  Hope.

                “Tony,” he says.

                Well, he’s not running away.  This is a good sign.  So Tony steps forward, heart pounding in his chest as he closes the distance between them—and still, Steve makes no move.  “I changed my mind,” he tells him.

                Steve blinks, and then he smiles, and it’s like the sun coming out from behind the clouds.  “Come here,” he says, offering his hand, and Tony reaches out to take it—his skin is rough but warm.  “Now close your eyes.”  Tony quirks an eyebrow up at him in response, but Steve just chuckles, squeezing his hand.  “Go on, close them.”

                So Tony does, tilting his head up a little as he does so.  Is Steve going to kiss him now?  It’s certainly a good time for it.  But no, Steve is leading him forward instead, guiding him toward the rail.  “Step up,” he says softly.  “Keep your eyes closed.  I’ve got you.”

                Tony inhales sharply, briefly reminded of that moment two nights ago when he’d climbed over the railing on the opposite end of the ship, but he forces the memory away.  This isn’t anything like that night.  Steve isn’t going to hurt him.  He’d never hurt him.  So he steps up, his free hand reaching down to grip at the rail.  “It’d be really bad if I fell over,” he says.

                “You’re not gonna fall over.”  And Steve sounds so damn assured of this fact that Tony finds himself relaxing almost instantly, leaning back into his solid presence—though as soon as he does, his mind starts to find something else to fret about.  They’re standing here at the bow of the ship, their bodies pressed close together in a way that’s hard to ignore.  What if someone sees them?

                No, he tells himself.  No one’s going to see them.  Everyone’s getting ready for dinner, and it doesn’t even matter, anyway, right?

                He takes a deep breath.  Where’s his kiss?  “Do I get to open my eyes now?”

                “Not yet,” comes Steve’s answer.  “Do you trust me?”

                The question takes him by surprise, his eyelids fluttering for a moment.  But then he turns his head in the direction of Steve’s voice, giving him a small smile.  “I do,” he says.  He’s had his share of corporate spies and ladies who’ve wanted to bed him in the hopes that he might gift them something extravagant.  But Steve—Steve isn’t like any of them.  He _knows_ it.

                “Trust me now, then.”

                The next thing he knows, his hands are being gently pulled away from the rail, and the only thing keeping Tony from tumbling over is Steve.  Tony’s terrified and exhilarated at the same time—here he is, one misstep away from certain death, and yet he trusts Steve so goddamn much that he’s willing to allow himself to be in such a dangerous position, and not even on his own terms.  He can feel Steve extending their arms to their sides, hands still entwined, the other man’s breath hot against his neck and the wind cool against his face.  What on earth is he doing?

                Steve must be sensing his impatience, because in the next instant, his lips are by his ear as he murmurs, “Go on.  You can open your eyes now.”

                Tony obliges, and his mouth falls open as he does.  It’s like… it’s like the whole world is ahead of him, all radiant skies and dappled waters, and he’s soaring through it all.  He can’t even see the railing from here.  “Steve,” he gasps, and suddenly he’s a little boy again, arms outstretched as he runs through the yard, pretending—”I’m flying!”  Is this what pilots see when they soar through the air?  When they glide over shining lakes as the sun goes down?  For all his love of aircrafts and flying, for all his tinkering with wing designs and pilot controls—he’s never flown before.  His father’s never let him.  But today, right here, right now… he’s flying.  He’s flying over the Atlantic and no one can stop him.

                Steve squeezes his hands gently; Tony can almost feel his smile against his skin.  “You mentioned you liked flying.”

                “You remembered?”  No one’s ever… just remembered things like this about him before.  Howard remembers, but only to ridicule him for it.  Steve, though…

                “Of course I remembered.”  He can feel Steve lowering their arms, the other man bringing their hands to his front so that he can embrace him.  “I know I can’t give you a lot, Tony.  I have the clothes on my back and about ten dollars in my pocket.  But… I can give you this.”

                Tony smiles then, turning his head to meet his eyes.  His beautiful, piercing blue eyes.  “This is enough,” he says quietly.  “More than enough.”

                They’re so close, he thinks.  Their lips are only a few inches apart.  And Tony… Tony doesn’t want to hold back anymore.  If anyone’s watching, to hell with them.  So slowly, tentatively, he pulls one hand away from Steve’s, reaching up to cup Steve’s cheek with it.  Steve, for his part, holds perfectly still, quietly gazing back at him, though Tony thinks he can hear the pounding of his heart—or maybe it’s his own that is beating so loudly.  It doesn’t matter.  The only thing that does matter is that they’re together.

                “Tony,” Steve whispers.

                That’s all the invitation he needs.  Tony finally closes the gap between their lips, kissing him—gently at first, afraid of pushing too hard—but then Steve’s tongue slips into his mouth, and God, it’s obvious that Steve has wanted this just as badly.  He can’t pull away, and he doesn’t want to.  So they kiss and they kiss and they kiss as the ship sails into the sunset, and in this one beautiful, glorious moment, Tony knows he can do anything in the world with Steve by his side, come what may.

 

“Shush,” Tony says as he places his ear against the door, then nods and pushes it open, looking around.  “Coast is clear.  We should be safe for a while.”

                Steve follows him inside, peering around as well.  “You sure?” he asks as he approaches the wall, gazing at the paintings hanging from it.  He was here just yesterday, but… he still can’t get over how grand everything is.

                “Yeah.”  Steve hears the door shut, then looks down to see Tony’s arms around him.  “They’re probably furious.  But they’re eating dinner with some other rich people tonight, and standing them up would probably make my father’s head explode.  So we have two hours here, give or take.  Maybe more.  It sure beats staying up there in the cold.”

                “It’s definitely better,” Steve agrees, turning around and smiling.  Especially with Tony holding him like this.  The man likes to cuddle.  Who knew?  “So,” he continues after a moment, reaching up to run a hand through Tony’s hair, “did you have anything particular in mind…?”

                Tony makes a sound suspiciously close to a purr as Steve touches him, leaning forward into his hand.  Steve is enthralled.  “I did, in fact,” he murmurs.  Then he pulls away, much to Steve’s disappointment, though he makes up for it by taking his hand.  “Come here.  Let me show you something.”  He leads them to a small safe, inputting the combination and opening it before pulling out two small boxes.  “As you know, I’m getting married.  Presumably.  This is supposed to involve exchanging rings and such.”  He holds up one box.  “I got this for her.  It has a blue stone because her name is Sunset and it doesn’t match at all, which is petty but I don’t really care.  Probably looks better on you, actually.”  Steve snorts, and Tony grins, taking the ring out and dropping it into the pocket of his pants.  “But she won’t be needing this anymore.  Meanwhile, she got me this beauty.  Just take a look.”

                He opens the box, and Steve leans forward to peer at it.  It looks like a silver band with a massive sapphire set onto it.  Really, really massive.  Who makes rings like that?  He flounders for a moment, trying to find something nice to say about it.  “It’s… um… very big.”

                Tony laughs, taking the ring out.  “Yeah.  I don’t know.  I think maybe she wanted me to remember that she’s just as rich and smart as me.  This is her way of putting me in my place.”  He offers the ring to Steve, then holds out his hand.  “Put it on.”

                Steve blinks.  Has he heard right?  Nonetheless, he obliges, slipping it onto Tony’s finger.  He feels like he’s at the altar.  “You look great,” he says with a smile.  “Then again, you look just as great without it.”

                “I’d accuse you of being a flatterer, but it’s true,” Tony replies, and Steve snorts again.  What is modesty to Tony Stark?  He wiggles his fingers.  “Steve, I want you to draw me like one of your French boys.  Wearing this.”

                He looks down at Tony’s hand in confusion.  That’s sort of a weird request, isn’t it?  The thing is from Sunset.  And Steve thought Tony was trying to get away from her.  Nonetheless, if Tony wants it… Steve isn’t going to deny him.  He doesn’t think he can deny Tony anything.  “Alright,” he replies.

                Tony smirks, and there’s a mischievous glint in his eye that wasn’t there before as he continues, “Wearing _only_ this.”

                Steve’s jaw falls open.

                Clearly pleased with himself, Tony pulls away, heading into another room and pausing in the doorway, looking back at him.  “You’d better get ready in the sitting room.  I’ll be out in a moment.”  And he shuts the door.

                “R-right,” Steve says, long after Tony’s gone.  Is this a dream?  Is he just imagining a rich, handsome man asking him to draw him naked?  Shaking his head to clear it, he goes back into the room they entered in, rearranging some of the furniture in something of a daze.  When he’s done, he takes a seat, then pulls out his materials and sets up his workspace.  His hands are shaking, and Tony’s not even here yet.  It’s just… well.  He’s never felt about anyone the way he feels about Tony.

                The door opens with a click, and Steve has to force himself not to flail and send his pencils flying.  He quickly turns his head to look, but to his relief—or maybe it’s disappointment—Tony isn’t naked, but wearing what looks like a silk bathrobe.  “Relax, Steve,” Tony tells him, catching sight of his expression and smirking.  “I’ll take this off in a moment.”  He approaches him languidly, continuing, “I believe we’ve yet to discuss any payment.”

                “Um,” Steve says coherently, and all he can think is how much he wants to rip that bathrobe off.

                Tony laughs, dropping a coin onto his sketchbook.  “Will this do?”

                Steve nods without looking down, unable to pull his gaze away.  “It’s fine.  I’d do it for free, even.”

                “So generous of you.”  Tony heads toward the couch, then turns back, eyes locked on Steve’s as he shrugs out of the bathrobe, revealing tanned skin and firm muscle underneath before tossing the garment aside carelessly.  Steve licks his lips.  “So,” Tony continues, looking immensely pleased, “are you going to tell me how to pose, or are you just going to stare at me all day?”

                Steve blinks again at him, very slowly.  “Oh!” he manages at last, far too delayed and feeling his ears start to burn.  “Right.  Um… just, um… just lie down.  On the couch.  In whatever way you think is most comfortable.”  God.  No wonder Tony is so vain—he’s _gorgeous_.  Steve is itching to wrap his lips around him and do incredibly inappropriate things, but no, he really shouldn’t.  It’s unprofessional!  And Steve is an _artist_.

                Tony seems intent on making this as difficult for Steve as possible, though, because he stretches like a cat as he settles down, gaze still fixed on him.  He can probably tell when Steve’s eyes drift toward… other parts of his anatomy.  Oh, goodness.  “How’s this?”

                “Close.  But…”  Steve can’t help it anymore.  He really can’t.  Tony looks so damn inviting, and Steve finds him impossible to resist.  So he stands up and walks over to him as the other man arches an eyebrow.  Steve grins.  He’s not going to let Tony be the _only_ one to be making any moves tonight.  Running a hand along his thigh, he continues, “Put your leg like _this_ …”  Then he readjusts his arm, quite unnecessarily brushing a hand against his chest as the other man shivers.  “And your arm like that… there.”

                Tony looks down at himself.  “You’ve gotten charcoal all over me.”

                “Hey,” Steve says, prodding his head and tilting it back upward again.  “Don’t ruin the pose.  And don’t worry.  I won’t draw it.”

                “No,” Tony replies quickly.  “Keep it there.  I like the handprint on my thigh.”

                Steve’s grin widens, and now it’s _his_ turn to feel pleased.  If the night goes the way he hopes it will, there’ll be a lot more charcoal handprints on Tony by dawn.  “You’re the patron,” he says, settling back down in the chair and picking up his pencil.

                He starts to draw.  His ears are still burning, but he tries to ignore it, focusing on Tony instead, on the curve of his face and the lines of his lips.  He’s never committed someone so perfect to paper before.  Tony, for his part, is surprisingly quiet—he seems content to watch Steve work, saying almost nothing at all.

                The time passes quickly.  Tony just… flows out of his pencil, and before he knows it, he’s done.  It’s perfect, he thinks.  Not as perfect as Tony, but to have captured even a part of his essence is enough to make for a beautiful piece of artwork.  “Alright,” he says, signing his name with a flourish and standing up.  “It’s finished.”  He glances back at Tony, who is now stretching.  Steve swallows, looking back at the drawing again.  “Do you… do you want to see?”

                “What kind of a question is that?  Of course I want to see.”  Tony stands up, still stark naked, and approaches him, leaning over his shoulder.  Steve tries not to get too distracted.  “Hmm,” he says.  “Not bad.”  Steve turns toward him, pouting, and Tony laughs, shaking his head.  “I’m teasing you.  This is wonderful.  This… really looks like me.  Not just physically, but…”  He gestures with one hand.  “I don’t know.  You know what I mean.  Maybe.”

                Steve smiles, and he can’t help but turn and kiss Tony’s cheek.  “I do,” he says.  “Glad you like it.”

                Tony smiles back at him.  “You’re wonderful, Steve,” he says quietly.  “I’m lucky to have met you.”

                They both fall silent for a moment, just… watching each other, and then Tony gives him another smile, plucking the drawing from Steve’s hands.  “I’m going to put this away and get dressed, and then we can move on to… other things.  That sound good?”

                Steve blinks.  “Get… dressed?” he repeats before he can stop himself.

                “Get your head out of the gutter,” Tony replies with a snicker.  “I’d love to stay naked with you, but it’s best that we get out of here before they’re done eating and gossiping.  I’ll be back in a moment.  Put this back in the safe for me, will you?”

                Tony hands him the ring and leaves with the drawing before Steve can say anything, so Steve sticks it back in the safe, cleans up his workspace, and moves the furniture back to its original position.  When he’s done, he turns to find Tony leaning against the doorway with his arms crossed, staring at him.  “What are you looking at?”

                “You, obviously.”  Tony steps toward him, wrapping his arms around his shoulders.  “Did you know you’re really hot when you’re concentrating?  Or hell, when you’re doing anything?”

                Steve feels his cheeks heat up.  “Uh,” he says.

                “It’s way too easy to make you blush.  But it’s a good look for you.  How can I make you do it more often?”  Tony runs his hand down his chest, but before he can get very far, there’s the sound of a key being turned.  “Shit,” Tony whispers, grabbing Steve’s hand and dragging him toward another room.  “This way.”

                As it turns out, the suite is so big it has _two_ exits, and Tony manages to get them through the second one before whoever came back can see them.  “Okay,” Tony says in a hushed voice, grinning.  “I think we’re safe.  For now.  They’re going to come looking for us, though, because they’re going to be mad.”

                With that, he pulls on Steve’s hand, leading them down the hallway.  “Mad?” Steve repeats.  “Because you missed dinner?”

                “Oh, yeah.”  Tony grins again, finding a staircase and taking them down.  “That, too.  But mostly because I left the drawing for them to find.”

                “Tony!” Steve scolds, squeezing his hand.  “Is it really a good idea to anger them right now?”

                Tony glances back at him, looking perfectly cheerful.  “Absolutely it is,” he says.  “I’m just disappointed that I won’t be able to see their faces when they discover it.”  He pauses.  “Then again, that’s probably a good thing.  Come on, this way.”

                Steve snorts softly, but he follows along obediently.  Tony just doesn’t seem to give a damn about anything half the time, and maybe that’s part of what Steve likes so much about him.  “Okay,” he says.  “So… where are we going?”

                “A secret place.”

                His answer is almost unbearably cryptic, but Steve decides to wait and see.  Tony keeps on taking them down whenever he can find a staircase, and before he knows it, they wind up in a dimly-lit room that seems to go on for miles, filled with automobiles.  “Gosh,” he says softly, looking around.  “I’ve never seen so many nice cars in one place before.”

                “You’re so deprived, Steve.  This way.”  Tony leads them further into the room, then stops in front of a fire-red car, beaming at it.  “Well?  Aren’t you going to let me in?”

                Steve stares at him for a moment, confused—but then he realizes what Tony is expecting, and he laughs, going to open the door.  “So demanding,” he says.

                “Oh, please,” Tony replies, taking Steve’s hand and pulling him in as well, motioning for him to shut the door.  “I’m first class.  You know how we love bossing people around.”

                “So I’m learning.”  Steve bounces a little on the seat once the door is shut, feeling the material.  Is it leather?  It seems like leather.  He gets the feeling that even for a car, this is pretty high-end—then again, it’s not like he’s ever really been in one before, so he can hardly compare.  But still!  “You have a nice car.”

                Tony grins, and before Steve knows it, the other man is straddling his lap, leaving him breathless.  “It’s not my car.”

                “Tony!” Steve squeaks, though he finds that his hands automatically settle on his hips.  “What if someone finds us, then?”

                “No one’s going to find us.”

                “How are you—”

                “Shush,” Tony says, placing a finger on his lips.  “I was studying diagrams of the ship earlier.  Only the crew and I know how to easily find this place, and the crew has no reason to come down here until we dock.  Is that answer satisfactory?  Because I’d really like to seduce you now.”

                Steve blinks at him slowly.  “Oh,” he says, once he’s processed the words.  “I— _well_.”  He clears his throat, his cheeks heating up again.  Now he’s starting to _really_ understand why Tony brought them to such a quiet, secluded place.  “If you’d like to start, I, um… I won’t stop you.”

                “ _Good_ ,” Tony practically purrs, and he leans down, starting to press soft kisses to his jaw and neck.  “You’re really gorgeous,” he continues, running his hands down his arms.  “I’ve told you that already, right?  Because you are.”

                Steve shivers, tilting his head to give Tony easier access as one hand slides up his back.  It’s been a while since he’s been touched this way.  “I-I don’t know about that,” he manages.  “I’m just a guy—”

                Tony pulls away, putting his finger against Steve’s lips again.  “Steve,” he says.  “You’re not _just_ anything.  I want you to be clear on that.  Okay?”

                Steve looks up at him in surprise.  Tony seems pretty serious about this.  “Okay,” he says.  “Sorry.”

                “Don’t apologize.”  Quietly, Tony presses another kiss to his neck, nuzzling it idly afterward.  He doesn’t say anything, so Steve doesn’t, either, instead just rubbing his back in small circles.  They stay like that for several moments, Tony seemingly content to just lay his head there, but eventually the silence is broken.  “I want you to touch me, Steve,” Tony murmurs.  “Will you do that?”

                “Touch you…?” Steve repeats.  He looks at Tony, thinks again about how beautiful and smart and talented he is.  How he could probably be with any woman or man he wants.  But Tony wants _him_.  Steve.  It’s mind-boggling, but he’s in no position to deny him, so he reaches up, placing his hand against the other man’s chest, trailing his fingers down his shirt.  “Like this?”

                Tony nods, moving closer.  Too much of that, and Steve’s not going to have room to touch him.  “More.”

                “You’re making that hard.”

                “That’s what I do.”  Tony’s eyes flicker up toward him, and he grins, grinding his body against Steve’s, causing him to flush and gasp.  “Hard.  See?”

                Steve can still feel his cheeks burning, but he quirks his lips and raises an eyebrow at him.  “You’re awful.”

                “I know.”  And though Tony seems to be enjoying the banter, he’s apparently getting antsy, because the next thing Steve knows, he’s on his back while Tony’s leaning over him, his eyes dark.  “I’m also impatient and demanding.  So are you going to touch me or not?”

                Steve sighs, as though having an incredibly gorgeous man on top of him demanding to be touched is something to be exasperated about.  “Come here, then.”  He reaches up, making quick work of the buttons on his shirt—for a moment, he’s tempted to just tear the thing off, but that would probably mean having to pick up all the stray buttons once they’re done and he doesn’t really want to do that—then pushes it off, swallowing as he exposes Tony’s body again.  And though he’s _seen_ it already, now he actually gets to enjoy it.  So he reaches up to touch his chest once more, brushing one thumb over his nipple, and Tony groans, body jerking like his knees are about to give way.

                “Christ,” he says.  “You have rough hands.”

                Steve blinks at that and quickly draws his hand away, looking up at him apologetically.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt—”

                “I didn’t say to _stop_.”

                “Oh.”  Steve goes back to touching him, hands roaming his chest and arms, and Tony makes a low sound in the back of his throat.

                 “You’re good,” he breathes.  “So careful.  Are you always this careful?  Wait, no, don’t tell me.  Just—just keep doing this.”  He whimpers again when Steve leans up, licking a wet trail around his nipple, and Steve makes a quiet sound of his own when he feels a hand thread itself into his hair.  It’s strange to be on his back when he’s the one making the initiative, but he hardly minds, not with the way Tony is shifting and moving above him.  Steve thinks he can stay like this for ages, just touching Tony and listening to him whimper and moan.

                Eventually, though, it seems like Tony is ready to move on, because he pushes his hands away, reaching down to untuck Steve’s shirt from his pants.  “Thought you wanted me to touch you,” Steve says.

                “Yeah, and I got what I wanted.”  His gaze flickers up and he grins again, leaning down to kiss Steve on the lips.  “Now I want more.”

                What he means by _more_ becomes increasingly clear as Tony continues to strip him, pulling his shirt off and leaning down to suck at his neck, hands sliding down Steve’s body to undo the fly of his pants as well.  “Y-you’re sure not holding anything back, are you?” Steve manages when Tony pulls back, touching the spot he’d just been sucking at.  It feels sore, and Tony bats his hand away.  “Did you just give me a bruise?”

                “Maybe.”  And with that, Tony ducks his head again, kissing his neck, his chest, his stomach.  Steve shivers under his touch, breath hitching as he nips at his navel.  “God, Steve.  Did you know you’re perfect?  Why are you hiding underneath these clothes?”

                Steve closes his eyes for a moment, just focusing on Tony’s touches, trying to keep his body from moving too much.  “I-I’m not hiding and I’m not perfect,” he says.  “A-and—and what, do you expect me to walk around naked?”

                “Yes?”  Tony undoes the button of his fly and pulls the zipper down, and Steve groans as his erection finally has some room to breathe—God, when did he get so hard?  “Wow,” Tony says, and Steve blushes at the way he’s staring down at his crotch.  “Okay, I was just going to fuck you, but you’ve given me another idea.”

                “What—” Steve begins, because _really_ , who said anything about _Tony_ fucking _him_ —but the other man is already pulling down his pants and underwear, and Steve lifts up his hips, making it easier.  He just—he can’t help it.  He hasn’t gotten any in a _long time_ , and even though he’s known Tony for all of, what, two days, he knows there’s something special about him.  Something he doesn’t want to slip away.  Is whatever they have now going to last once they get off the ship?  He doesn’t know.  But this—whatever this is—is something he’s going to enjoy while he can.

                Tony leans down, and it looks like he’s about to just bury his face in his crotch when he pauses, glancing back up at him.  “You’re okay with this, right?  Getting naked?  Doing the horizontal tango with me?”

                And while it’s nice of Tony to be asking and confirming, does he _really_ have to do so when his face is _right there_ , his every breath tickling his member?  Christ, he must be doing this on purpose.  “Yes,” Steve growls, and he finds himself hooking a leg around Tony’s back.  “Trust me.  You’d know if I wasn’t.”

                “Pushy.”  Nonetheless, Tony looks rather pleased as he buries his face against his crotch, inhaling deeply.  “You’re perfect,” he says again, voice muffled.  “Can I just stay here forever?”

                “I’d rather you did more than just put your face there.”

                Tony snorts.  “Pushy,” he repeats.  But he leans forward, and suddenly Steve can feel a warm tongue against his skin, causing him to buck and moan in response.  Seemingly encouraged by that, Tony shifts, and the next thing he knows, Tony’s just full-out lapping at his cock, eyes closed as he leaves a wet trail along every vein and ridge.  “God,” he manages between licks, voice deep and breathy.  “I’m—I’m dead serious, Steve.  I think I could actually stay here forever.”

                Steve whimpers and whines and writhes as Tony continues to lick at him like he’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, toes curling.  Tony must have done this before.  He must have done this a _lot_ , to be so good at it.  “D-don’t think I’d object to that,” he breathes.

                “ _Good_.”  With that, Tony pulls back, but only for a moment before he’s leaning forward again, taking his cock between his lips, and dear lord his mouth is warm and wet and perfect.  Hesitantly, Steve reaches up, slipping his fingers into Tony’s hair—while he likes that sort of thing, not everyone he’s slept with has welcomed this kind of contact—but Tony makes a slurping sound Steve can only describe as _obscenely pleased_ , so he doesn’t pull away, just continues to run his fingers through the dark strands.

                “Y-you’re really a sight,” he says after a moment, because he hates being quiet when he’s being intimate—it feels more impersonal if they’re not talking.  Tony doesn’t seem to mind from the way he’s gazing up at him, mouth still making sucking motions as the corners of his eyes crinkle ever so slightly.

                The whole thing is incredibly arousing, it really is.  But as much as Steve is enjoying this, as much as he wants Tony to suck him to completion… that isn’t all he wants to do tonight.  So after a few more minutes of this—of the best oral sex he’s ever received in his life—he removes his hand from his hair, tapping him lightly on the shoulder instead.  “T-Tony,” he whispers.  “Tony, if you want us to do more tonight, you’re gonna have to stop.”

                Tony whines around him, as if there’s nothing in the world that he wants more than having Steve come in his mouth, and the sound alone is nearly enough to make him reconsider—and that’s not even taking into account the most convincing puppy-dog eyes he’s ever seen.  But he has to stay strong, he tells himself, because _yes_ , okay, he would really like Tony to have sex with him right about now.  “Come on,” he urges.  “I want more.  Don’t you?”

                The other man’s brows furrow slightly, as though this is some sort of difficult question that he really needs to _think_ about.  Eventually, though, he reluctantly pulls away with an absolutely filthy sucking sound, though he presses a soft kiss against his tip before slowly stroking him with his hand instead.  “I—” he starts roughly, then coughs and clears his throat before continuing—”I fully expect to be able to finish that properly one of these days.  Promise?”

                Steve can feel his heart flutter in his chest.  Not because Tony’s still touching him, though that certainly helps, but because Tony… Tony seems to think this is more than just a one-night deal.  Sure, he could just mean until the ship docks in New York and they part ways for good, but… Steve wants to believe there’s more to it than that.  “Promise.  Now come here.”  Without waiting for an answer, he sits up, slipping an arm around Tony’s shoulders to pull him close and kiss him deeply, eyes slowly sliding shut.  God.  He can taste himself on the other man’s lips.

                They break apart several moments later, and Tony leans forward, panting quietly as he rests his head against Steve’s shoulder, one hand sliding from Steve’s cheek down to his neck, then his shoulder, then his chest.  “Steve,” he whispers.  “Do you really want this?  Do you really want _me_?”

                “Don’t be silly,” Steve replies, placing one finger against his chin and tilting his head up so that their eyes can meet.  “Of course I do.”  He smiles.  “I don’t get into random cars with just _anyone_ , you know.”

                Tony gives him a small smile back, though his eyes aren’t quite joining in yet.  “Kiss me again?”

                So Steve does, tongue slipping into his mouth as his eyes shut again, his hand finding its way back into Tony’s hair.  For all of his bravado and confidence and teasing, it’s pretty clear to him that Tony is hurting, and all Steve wants to do is prove to him that he’s a man worth knowing.  A man worth lov—

                No, he thinks.  It’s—it’s too soon for that.

                Tony looks at him again once they pull away from each other, and the smile he gives him is much more genuine this time.  “You’re good at this,” he says, splaying one hand against Steve’s chest and gently pressing his fingers into the muscle below.  “I’m convinced.”  He pushes him hard after that, and with a gasp, Steve finds himself lying back against the leather seats again, Tony straddling him as he kisses him once more, hands touching him all over.  “Pants, get my pants,” he manages after a moment, breathing hard before resuming his attack against his lips.

                Blindly, Steve slides his hands down Tony’s back, feeling muscle shifting under his skin—and goodness, wouldn’t it be lovely if he could just lie here all day, feeling him?  But he has a task to do, and he has no intention of letting Tony down.  So he slips his hands around to Tony’s front, fingers brushing against the trail of hair that starts just above his pants before moving downward, undoing the buttons there.

                At this, Tony lets out a wanton moan, thrusting into him, and for a moment, Steve can’t help but palm his erection, feeling it press into his hand.  Tony wants this badly.  _Steve_ wants this badly.  Maybe he should stop playing so they can move on.  So with that, he hooks his thumbs around the band of his pants and underwear, pushing it down, Tony helping to kick them off once they’re low enough—and then, just like that, they’re both naked, looking at each other in the dim light, breathing hard in the silence.  “Tony,” Steve says.

                Tony leans forward, running a finger over Steve’s lower lip—it feels a little swollen and tender to the touch, but Steve hardly minds.  “Lubricant,” he says after a moment.  “You didn’t happen to be carrying any in your pockets, did you?”

                Steve snorts and shakes his head.  “Just use spit.”  It won’t be comfortable, sure, but _he wants this_ , and he’s not going to let some lubricant—or lack thereof—get in his way.      

                Tony looks thoughtful for a moment, then gets off him, reaching under the front passenger seat.  “The lady might keep some lotion in the glove compartment,” he explains when Steve makes a questioning sound, then straightens, looking triumphant and brandishing a bottle before starting to uncap it.

                Steve frowns.  “Isn’t that stealing?”

                Tony arches an eyebrow at him, already squeezing some into his hand and rubbing it against his fingers.  “Do you want to do this or not?”

                “I do, but—”

                “Trust me, if they can afford this car, they can afford more lotion.  Now relax, I need to prepare you.”

                Steve pouts, not entirely happy with this development, but he spreads his legs so that Tony can settle between them.  “You look cute like that,” Tony continues, smirking as he lowers a finger, circling his entrance—Steve gasps quietly and bites his lip, and the curve of Tony’s mouth deepens.  “This is a better look, though.  Can I continue?  You’ve done this before, right?”

                “Yeah,” Steve breathes, voice tight.  It’s been a while—a _long_ while—but he’s not a virgin.  “Just—just be careful.”

                “I won’t hurt you,” Tony promises.  With that, he slowly urges a lotion-covered finger in, gaze finding Steve’s.  “This okay?  Jesus, you’re tight.”

                Steve’s breath hitches, but he nods, looking back at him.  “I-it’s fine.  Keep going.”

                So Tony continues to push in, still looking at Steve intensely, like he’s ready to stop the moment any sign of pain appears on his face, and it’s touching, it really is—but Steve rocks his hips a little nonetheless, and Tony gets the message, going just a little faster.  “I mentioned you’re pushy earlier, right?” he says conversationally.  “Because you are.  You’re pushy.”

                Steve licks his lips.  “You make me pushy.  Take it as a compliment.”

                “Believe me, I am.”

                The first finger goes in all the way, and the second and third go in a little faster after that.  Soon enough, Steve is arching away from the leather seats, sweating and trying not to writhe as Tony curls his fingers, smirking down at him.  “Do you like that?” he purrs, fingers moving inside him.  Steve whimpers.  “God, you’re so gorgeous like this—I should get a camera and record you; I bet I could play it all day and not get tired of it—”

                “Tony,” Steve interrupts breathlessly.  “Please, stop talking and give me more—” He cuts himself off with a sharp moan, thrusting against him, and he thinks he can hear Tony swear under his breath.  The fingers vanish, and though Steve knows he _asked_ for this, he can’t help but feel, well, empty.  But then the bottle of lotion is pressed into his hands, and he remembers something much better is going to replace it soon.  Without needing Tony to tell him what to do—the fact that Tony’s cock is right in front of him, hard and thick and shining with wetness is instruction enough—he squeezes some of the lotion into his hands, warming it for a moment before reaching forward, coating it well.

                Tony groans, hips moving slowly against him.  “I really love your hands,” he says.

                “Glad to hear it.”  Since Tony isn’t stopping him, Steve continues to touch him, rubbing the lotion along the length of his cock and brushing his thumb over his foreskin, listening to the quiet sounds Tony makes in response.

                Finally, though, it seems like Tony’s had enough—“Okay,” he gasps, and Steve notes with satisfaction that Tony’s not the _only_ one here who can get someone all hot and bothered.  “T-too much of that, and the next part is going to be really underwhelming for you.”

                Steve tsks softly, but with one last stroke, he lets him go, looking up at him expectantly.  Tony curses again.

                “Could you _be_ any more intense?” he asks.

                “Do you want me to look away?”

                Tony hmphs, adjusting himself so that he’s pressing lightly against Steve’s entrance and looking smug as Steve swallows.  “No,” he admits.  “You ready?”

                Steve takes a deep breath, then nods.  “Yeah,” he says.  “Go ahead.”

                And so Tony pushes in.  It’s not easy, not at all.  Tony—Tony is really _thick_ , and Steve hasn’t done this in so long, but he’s determined to make it through this.  He bites his lower lip, one hand grasping uselessly at the leather seats, and he must have made some sort of pained expression, because Tony stops after a moment, looking down at him with concern.  “Are you okay?”

                Steve nods again, placing his hand on Tony’s back and trying to get him to _move_ again.  “Don’t stop,” he manages.  “I can take it.”

                “Alright,” Tony murmurs.  He reaches up, gripping at Steve’s shoulder a little, then licks his lips and keeps on going.  God, it _burns_.  But it’s not a bad burn.  Or at least, not as bad as it could be.  And Steve knows it’ll get better.  Eventually.  Soon.  He hopes.

                Finally, Tony stops, panting quietly as he braces himself above him, beads of sweat shining on his forehead.  He glances at Steve and grins.  “Okay,” he says.  “I’m in.  Do you need a moment?  Because it seems like you should need a moment.  You’re so damn _tight_.”

                “Believe me, I know,” Steve manages.  He experimentally shifts a little, but he doesn’t think his body is quite up for the movement yet, so he stops and takes a deep breath.  “Yeah.  Give me a moment.”

                Tony does, though his definition of giving Steve a moment apparently involves leaning down and kissing him deeply—though Steve hardly minds.  He kisses him back, tongue sliding into his mouth as his hands tangle themselves in the other man’s hair, loving the sounds he’s making—quiet, passionate, deep.  Was he like this with Sunset?  Maybe.  But he forces himself to push it out of mind.  Sunset doesn’t matter, after all.  Only the two of them, right here, right now, do.

                After what seems like an extraordinarily long kiss, Tony pulls away, looking smug as he gazes down at him, panting.  “Enough?” he asks.  “Or do you need another moment?”

                “Should be illegal to look that pleased with yourself,” Steve mutters.  Nonetheless, he rolls his hips slightly, looking back up at him in return.  “Give it to me.”

                And Tony does.  He’s cautious at first, taking care not to make any sudden movements, but after a few achingly slow thrusts, Steve makes a growling sound in the back of his throat and glares up at him expectantly, hands reaching up to take hold of Tony’s hips.  “Faster,” he says in a low voice.  “I can take it.”

                Tony snorts even as he obliges, picking up the pace.  “I’d reiterate the whole—ah—pushy thing,” he pants, sliding one hand up Steve’s chest as he speaks.  “But who am I kidding?  It’s as hot as hell.”

                Steve doesn’t know about that, but he’s happy to have Tony touching him this way, so he doesn’t respond—not with words, anyway.  He keeps one hand on Tony’s hip while the other one slides up along Tony’s back, feeling his muscles shift as the other man moves in him.

                For a long time, they are silent save for the sound of their quiet breaths as they pant and move together, fingers clutching at sweat-dampened skin.  Tony’s thrusts are rhythmic and even, and the initial ache is all but gone by now.  In this moment, Steve feels like there’s nothing in the world except the two of them in this stranger’s car, as close as two people can possibly be, and everything is perfect.  Tony is beautiful like this, the humidity making his hair curl and stick to his forehead, and Steve reaches up, brushing it out of his face so that it doesn’t block his eyes.  “Tony,” he says softly.

                Tony blinks, looking mildly surprised.  “No one… no one ever touches me like that during sex,” he says at Steve’s questioning gaze, and Steve’s heart aches at the admission.  “Keep—keep on doing that?”

                “Yeah.  Come here.”  While Tony is still moving in him, Steve loosely wraps his arms around the other man’s shoulders, pulling him close and kissing his nose, then his lips.  Tony groans and shifts the angle, eliciting a gasp from Steve.  “God,” he manages against his mouth.  “T-that’s perfect, don’t stop.”

                “I won’t.”

                Steve is close now, he can tell.  Tony is everywhere he needs to be, each thrust pounding that place inside him that makes him whimper and moan, nails digging into Tony’s skin.  And then the other man’s hand is wrapping itself around his member, stroking him rhythmically, and Steve throws his head back, feeling utterly helpless.  “Tony,” he gasps.  “Tony—”

                “Let go for me,” Tony whispers, breath hot against his ear.  “Prove it to me—prove that I can make you feel good—”

                And Steve comes, crying out Tony’s name so loud he’s sure everyone on the entire ship can hear, his entire body clenching and arching as he feels warmth splatter across his stomach.  Tony keeps on fucking him until Steve feels like every last drop has been wrung from his body before he finally lets go as well, and Steve groans as he can feel Tony shooting deep into him, shouting his name in response.

                “Fuck,” Tony pants as he slumps forward, making what looks like a token attempt to stay upright before just collapsing on top of Steve with a grunt.  “Oh, wow, you’re comfortable.  Okay, I’m just going to lie here for a good long while.  Alright?”

                Steve manages a breathless laugh, slipping his arms around Tony and squeezing gently.  They’ve both made a proper mess of themselves by now, but hell, he hardly cares.  He can only hope they didn’t get anything onto the leather seats.  “Alright,” he says, tilting his head forward to kiss the other man.  “That… that was good.”

                Tony looks up at him, raising one eyebrow.  “Just good?” he asks, pouting.

                “It was amazing,” Steve corrects, rolling his eyes and running his fingers through Tony’s hair.  “That better?”

                With a nod, Tony dips his head back down, managing to find the crook of his shoulder and nuzzling into the space there.  He looks adorable and happy and sated, which is the best Steve could have hoped for, really.  “We’ll have to do this again later,” he says, voice muffled.  “Much later.  I’m exhausted now.”

                “I can tell,” Steve replies with a grin, idly playing with a few strands of his hair.  Tony’s happy, and it’s because of him.  His heart swells a little at the thought.  Tony deserves to be happy—not just now, but all the time.  And Steve… Steve wants to believe that he can be the person to make him this way.  He wants to ask if maybe Tony feels the same, but he’s afraid of scaring him off.  He has to be careful.  He has to make sure Tony wants this, too.  “We can’t stay here forever, though.”

                Tony whines softly, nuzzling against him some more and slipping his arms loosely around his body.  “Can’t we?”

                Steve chuckles again.  “Maybe a little longer.  Not forever, though.”

                “We’ll see about that,” Tony murmurs, curling up against him.  He looks very much like he’s ready to just settle down and take a nap, so Steve decides to indulge him, continuing to thread his fingers through his hair as Tony lies against him, breathing quietly.  “You’re warm,” Steve hears him say after a moment, so quiet he almost misses it.  “Sunset… Sunset’s not warm.  She’s cold.  She—she never liked being held—”

                “Shh,” Steve interrupts gently, placing a finger against his lips.  “Don’t think of Sunset.  She doesn’t matter anymore.  Just think of me.  Of us.”

                “Us,” Tony repeats.  He sighs, resting his head against Steve’s chest, and for a long moment there is nothing but the sound of their hearts pounding as one.


	2. Chapter 2

When they finally emerge on deck minutes, hours, days later—Steve isn’t even sure of the time anymore—Tony is in good spirits, arm wrapped around him without a care in the world as they let the cool air wash over them. He giggles at some scandalized passengers staring at them, and Steve finds himself laughing as well, unable to help it.

                “Steve,” Tony says, swinging around to face him and taking both his hands in his own, “when we reach New York, I’m getting off with you.”

                Steve can feel his heart leap in his chest as he blinks slowly at him in return, hardly able to believe the words he’s just heard. If he’s being honest with himself, well… he’d hoped for this. Hoped that maybe Tony would want to throw everything away and just start over. But he hadn’t actually expected it to _happen_. “Tony,” he begins. “That’s… that’s crazy.”

                “Isn’t it?” Tony replies, beaming. “My father won’t know what hit him. Well, he probably will, and he’ll probably be upset. I guess I should hide or something. Hey, maybe I’ll change my name.”

                Despite himself, Steve snorts. “You—you can’t be serious about that. Aren’t you famous?” Tony doesn’t seem like the type of guy to fade away into obscurity—name change or not, Steve’s pretty sure he’ll make headlines again sooner or later.

                “Yeah.” Tony grins and steps forward, wrapping his arms around Steve’s waist. “But it doesn’t matter. I might be a Stark, but that doesn’t mean I have to be called one. Oh, I know—what about Chaplin? Tony Chaplin. I think that’s a nice name. Maybe I can pretend to be related to Charlie.”

                Steve rolls his eyes, but he slips his arms around Tony in return, playing along. “Yeah. You could get into vaudeville. Can you dance?”

                “Absolutely not.” Next thing Steve knows, Tony is pulling away, doing something fancy with his feet before spinning around and winding right back up in his arms. “Maybe you should teach me.”

                Steve laughs. “You know, somehow I’m under the impression that I’m the one who needs lessons—” He cuts off abruptly as the world around them seems to shudder, arms tightening around Tony protectively. “Tony,” he gasps after a moment, once the ground seems to be steady again. “What—what was that?”

                Tony pulls away, looking around. “Christ,” he breathes, then points behind him—they’re sailing right past a massive iceberg, so close Steve could probably run over and touch it if he really wants to. Together, they go over to the rail once the iceberg is gone, staring down at the hull. “I think we were hit.”

                Steve thinks about the shudder he felt, thinks about how massive that iceberg was. “I… I don’t see any damage. Do you think we’re okay?”

                He watches as Tony runs his hand against the rail, brows furrowing before he turns to meet his eyes again. “No,” the other man says at last. “I don’t think we are.”

 

Maybe he doesn’t have a protractor or a ruler or _anything_ useful on his person right now, but he’s an _engineer_ , and he knows when something’s wrong. There’s a difference now in the way the ship is moving, a difference in the way he has to hold himself completely upright. He suspects most people can’t tell. But he can. “There’s a list,” he tells Steve, whose face shows shock and just a little bit of blankness. “I’m not sure how many degrees. But to feel it already, so soon after impact—that’s not good.” When Steve still looks blank, Tony continues, “The ship is tilting because water’s flooding in.”

                That seems to be English enough for Steve, who blinks and goes pale. “Flooding,” he repeats. “You mean—we’re going to sink?”

                “Maybe.” Tony bites his lip and peers over the rail again, thinking about the diagrams he’d studied earlier. It’s a well-built ship, and it can withstand _some_ flooding, but he doesn’t know how bad the damage is, doesn’t know how quickly the crew responded—too many unknowns. “Either way, this is bad. Steve…” And here he swallows, not sure how the other man will take it, but he makes himself press on anyway. “We have to tell my father and Sunset. You—you understand, Steve, don’t you?” If something’s happened, they need to know. He may not like them very much right now—hell, he’s planning on getting away from them as soon as they make it to shore—but he doesn’t want them to _die_ , if things take a turn for the worse. His father is, well, his _father_ , and he’d cared deeply for Sunset once, long ago…

                Steve swallows but nods, taking his hand and squeezing it gently. “I do,” he says. Uncertainly, he lets his hand go, stepping back a little. “Lead the way…?”

                Tony shakes his head quickly, taking his hand again. “We’re not going to hide it,” he says, and despite his own nervousness, the way it makes Steve light up makes it worth it. Besides, by now they’ve probably already found the drawing he’d stowed in the safe, so what’s the point? He leans forward, kissing Steve briefly on the lips. “Come on.”

                They head back in, hands clasped tight as they stride back to the suite, Tony trying to look a lot more confident than he currently feels. To his surprise, Sunset is out in the hall, leaning against the wall with one leg crossed in front of the other as her eyes land on them. _Not_ surprisingly, she doesn’t look very happy. “We’ve been looking for you,” she says as she falls into step behind them, jabbing Tony in the back.

                From the corner of his eye, he can see Steve’s lips twitch, but the other man remains silent as they turn into their suite. “Oh, I didn’t realize standing around counted as looking for someone,” Tony replies as airily as he can. “Wait, what am I talking about? We’re the social elite. Standing around is all we do.” He hears Sunset take a deep breath, like she’s about to make some sort of heavy-handed retort, but he quickly interrupts, continuing, “Look, I’m sure you’re very angry at me right now, and you’ve probably even managed to justify it in your head, but something’s happened—”

                “You’re damn right something’s happened,” comes another voice, laced with contempt. Oh. Father. This is going to be fun. “Search him.”

                “What—” Tony begins, stepping away from Steve in surprise as two stewards approach him, making the other man take off his jacket. “Father, what the hell—”

                Then one of the stewards straightens. “Is this it?”

                He’s holding up a ring. _That_ ring. The one Steve had drawn him wearing only a few short hours ago. Tony feels his throat go dry as he glances over at Steve, who’s staring at the ring blankly. “Steve…?” he asks softly.

                Steve shakes his head, slowly at first, then faster. “No,” he says. He glances over at Howard, then at Tony. “Tony. I didn’t take it. You know I didn’t take it.”

                “Right,” Tony says slowly, quietly. “He—he couldn’t have; he was with me the whole time—”

                Howard just waves a hand dismissively. “Cuff him,” he tells the stewards, who are quick to oblige.

                Sunset, meanwhile, snakes up to Tony, leaning forward to whisper into his ear. “Maybe he took it while you were getting dressed again.”

                Tony feels weak in the knees, and not in the good way. For so long, he—he’s wanted to believe that Steve was different, that he wasn’t like any of the others who only cared about his looks or his money or his parents. That maybe somehow, he’s finally found someone who actually cares about _him_. But now he can remember all the times he’s been burned before, and maybe… maybe it’s not such a surprise that he’s been burned again.

                “Tony,” Steve says, and his voice sounds broken, hurt. “Tony, please look at me.”

                Howard makes another motion with his hand, and the stewards leave, pulling Steve along. Tony shies away as they pass him, steadfastly avoiding meeting his gaze. He doesn’t move again until the sounds of Steve struggling against them fade into the distance, and it’s only when Sunset lays a hand against his shoulder that he remembers he’s not alone.

                “Oh, Tony,” she all but purrs, rubbing his shoulder. “When will you ever learn what’s best for you?”

                He shrugs her hand away, staring blankly at the wall opposite him. What… what had just happened? He’d been so happy just a moment ago. And then everything had changed.

                Sunset bristles. “Stop playing the victim,” she snaps. “You deserve it. Do you have _any_ idea how—how mortified I was to see that disgusting scribble in the safe?” She steps closer, pushing right up into his personal space. “What is it about him, Tony? _I_ can guarantee us financial security. _I_ have accomplished things no other women have even dreamed of. _I_ am an engineer! I can understand you in a way he never will! Why am I not good enough for you?”

                Tony’s lips part, and for a moment, he’s completely taken aback by her vehemence. “I—” he manages, and for a moment, he feels awful and guilty and wrong. He’s hurt her. It’d seemed like such a grand idea before, but now with her right here, eyes fiery and passionate, he can’t help but think he’s made a mistake, never mind all the things she’s done.

                “Sunset,” Howard interrupts, and Tony’s eyes slowly slide in his direction. “Find out why everyone in the hallway is making so much noise. I’ll deal with him.”

                She seems to hesitate for a moment, as though she has an idea of just what Howard means when he says that, but eventually, she nods and leaves the room, shutting the door behind her. When it’s just the two of them left, Howard turns toward Tony, jaw set, and Tony goes back to staring at the wall. “Look at me,” he spits.

                Tony doesn’t move.

                “ _Look_ at me,” Howard repeats, grabbing him by the shoulders and gripping him painfully hard, and finally Tony lifts his head, meeting his eyes. “I _told_ you. I told you not to see him again. And what did you do? You disobeyed me. You put swine over your own family, and now look at what’s happened.”

                “I…” Tony begins, but he has no defense. He should have listened to his father. He never should have let Steve so close.

                “Disgusting,” Howard hisses. He opens his mouth again, like he’s going to say more, but then the door opens, and Sunset steps in. She’s holding something in her arms—Jesus Christ, are those _lifebelts_?

                Before Howard can say anything about the interruption, Sunset walks toward them, offering them each a lifebelt. “We have to get on deck,” she says as Tony slowly reaches out to accept his, blinking down slowly at it. A lifebelt. There’s only one reason they’d bring these out. “It’s bad. We need to move.”

                “This is insane,” Howard says, but despite the doubt on his face, he puts the lifebelt on, and Tony is quick to follow suit. Sunset’s not an idiot. Emotionally lacking, maybe, but if she’s convinced something’s wrong, then she’s probably right. He then glances at Tony, one eye twitching like he wants to continue to berate him—but then he thinks better of it, turning toward Sunset. “Alright. Let’s go.”

                It’s loud and cold and busy when they make it outside, and Tony cringes, fighting the urge to go back indoors and curl up. This isn’t what he needs right now. From what he can hear, it’s not what a lot of other people need right now, either. One woman is telling her maid to turn on the heater for when they get back inside, and there’s a man calling for someone to bring him a drink. Tony’s tempted to join in on that.

                But then again, he’s heard other things too, seen troubled glances passed from crew member to crew member, and slowly but surely, the truth is dawning on him—their ship is sinking. Their ship is _sinking_. In mere hours, this is all going to be at the bottom of the ocean. And the people on it…

                “Here,” Sunset says, and they find themselves in the middle of a small throng of people gathered around one lifeboat. Not too much time has passed since the collision just yet, and Tony suspects that the three of them are some of the earliest people to be convinced that they’re actually in danger. In front of them, one of the ship’s officers is yelling something, but with all the commotion, Tony can hardly tell what he’s saying—something about women and children, he thinks, and both he and Howard look at Sunset.

                “Get on, then,” Howard says.

                To Tony’s surprise, he can see Sunset swallow, and for the briefest of moments, there’s a spark of affection for her. Despite everything that’s happened, despite the fact that he has no idea if her hesitation stems from the fact that she actually cares about them or if she’s just thinking about what this might mean for her business prospects, he takes off his lifebelt, then shrugs off his suit jacket and wraps it around her before putting the lifebelt back on. “Go,” he urges.

                Sunset nods, her fingers coming up and wrapping the jacket tight around her. “Good luck,” she says, eyes darting between them. “To both of you.” A crew member helps her board one of the boats, and Tony wonders if this is the last time he’ll ever see her.

                It’s just the two of them now, standing here at the edge of the ship as Sunset’s boat fades into the darkness. Tony has no idea what they’re supposed to do.

                Evidently, his father is thinking the same thing, because he idly checks his watch before looking at Tony, eyes hard. “How much do you think that drawing would be worth by morning?” he asks conversationally. “It’s a shame I had it destroyed.”

                Tony turns to look at him, his eyes widening as the full reality of what’s going to happen tonight hits him. The ship is going to sink. People are going to die. And somewhere down below, Steve is handcuffed, possibly all alone, and he can imagine him now, head bowed as he thinks about how much Tony must hate him…

                And suddenly he realizes the truth.

                “You bastard,” he breathes, and before he knows it, he’s running off, shoving past panicked passengers and harassed crew members, heading… somewhere. He doesn’t know where. But then Howard’s hand is heavy against his shoulder, and he finds himself whirled around to facing him.

                “What are you going to do?” his father snarls, gripping him so hard it hurts. “Are you going to go back to him? He’s nothing! He’s a stain, a smear, worth less than grime underneath your nails—”

                “Shut up!” Tony interrupts, managing to pull away from his grasp, but Howard just takes hold of him again, and there’s a brief scuffle—he thinks he hears the words _he isn’t worth it_ , and something inside him snaps, because Steve _is_ worth it, Steve is the reason he would actually mind dying on this ship tonight—and he pulls one arm back and punches his father square in the jaw, sending him reeling. He stands there afterward, panting harshly as he watches Howard disbelievingly reach up and touch his face, wiping the spittle away from his mouth. He doesn’t regret it at all. “This is my life,” he tells him. “And if I think he’s worth it, then he is.”

                With that, he turns and heads back inside, and the fact that no one stops him tells him that Howard isn’t following.

 

Steve comes to the conclusion that tonight is very likely the last night of his life.

                It’s… troubling, yes. He’s not _ready_. Can anyone ever truly be prepared to die? Maybe some people can, he supposes. But not him. There’s still so much he wants to see, so much he wants to do. He’d been planning on visiting his mother’s grave, maybe go check in on some of his friends. And then he’d wanted to travel across the country, from New York to California. He’d wanted to live his life.

                More importantly, he’d wanted to live it with Tony.

                And that, more than anything else, is what weighs on him the most tonight. He doesn’t want to die, sure, but he’s chained to this pole and neither of them is going anywhere, and he can already see water seeping into the room. So okay, fine, he’s going to die, and that’s bad. But what’s _worse_ is the thought of Tony going on—because he _will_ survive this; the alternative is unthinkable—believing that Steve had betrayed him, that he was just like any other person out there who’d used them for their own ends. Tony doesn’t deserve that. He deserves better. Steve had thought he was going to be able to give him better, but life doesn’t always work out the way you wanted to. And now… now Tony’s just going to go back to being under his father’s thumb. And though Steve can’t blame him for it—he’s spent his entire life there, after all—it still _hurts_. He’d wanted to see Tony break free and live his own life, but now he fears that’ll never happen.

                He sighs, resting his head against the pole and closing his eyes. He loves Tony, he thinks. He loves him so much and he should have said it earlier but now it’s too late, and Tony’s going to live his life feeling like no one ever did.

                God, he has it bad. Now the water’s at his shoes and getting the bottom of his pants wet, and what does he hear? Tony’s voice. Calling his name. He really wishes his mind wouldn’t tease him so, making him think that somehow Tony is down here, looking for him.

                It takes him a few moments to realize he’s not imagining it.

                Once said realization hits, his brain seems to stop working, and he struggles with himself for a moment, trying to figure out what he should do. His instinct is to call his name in return, directing him to the room he’s locked up in, but then what? It’s not like Tony’s going to have a key for his handcuffs. And it’s dangerous down here. If—if Tony stays for too long, he’s not going to make it back up, and he’ll have died for nothing…

                Steve swallows, squeezing his eyes shut again. _Stay silent_ , he tells himself. _Let him give up and go away._

                But he can’t do that. He can’t not take this chance to see Tony, however briefly, for one last time. Tony needs him, and he needs Tony. So finally, he clangs his cuffs against the pipe, trying to make as much noise as he can. “Tony!” he calls out. “Tony, I’m here!”

                “Steve!” he hears, and the voice is filled with such relief it makes Steve’s knees buckle. In the next moment, the door opens, and Tony sloshes in, running over to him and immediately throwing his arms around his body. His eyes are a little wild and his hair is a mess, but other than that, he… he looks as well as can be expected. “I’m sorry!” the other man cries, running his hands through Steve’s hair, breathing hard as he nuzzles against him. “Steve, I’m so sorry, I never should have believed them, I’m a fucking idiot—”

                “I-it’s okay,” Steve manages, attempting to place a finger against Tony’s lips before remembering that his hands don’t exactly have a lot of leeway right now. “Tony, you have to get out of here. It’s not safe.”

                “I know,” Tony breathes, and he presses a kiss to Steve’s temple, his forehead, his nose. “I will. But not without you.”

                Steve feels his heart swell. “I’m glad you came for me, Tony,” he says, and he leans forward, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. This next part isn’t going to be easy, but he needs to say it. He’s unbelievably happy that Tony came to find him, knowing that what they have together managed to transcend all the damage his father tried to do to it—but Tony’s life is more important. And anyway, this… this is enough, knowing that Tony believes in him. If—when he dies tonight, they’ll both know the truth. “I’m sorry I made your life so difficult. But there’s no time. You have to go back up, okay? Go up and get into a lifeboat. For me.”

                “Not without you,” Tony repeats, lifting Steve’s hands and studying the handcuffs. He lowers them after a moment, looking back at him. “Steve, you… you made my life worth living. There’s no way I’m just going to leave you here to drown, not after everything that’s happened. So don’t argue, because I’m not going to listen.”

                “Tony…” Steve begins weakly. There’s nothing he can say to that, so he just rests his head against the pole again, gazing at him. “I—I think the key was silver. Maybe there’s an extra in the cabinet.” At his words, Tony whirls around, finding said cabinet and opening it, looking the keys over as Steve continues, “How did you find out I was telling the truth…?”

                The other man pauses, turning his head to look at him. “I didn’t,” he says. “I realized I already knew.” He gives him a tiny smile, then goes back to studying the keys. “These—these are all brass.” Steve opens his mouth to tell him to go back up, but before any words have a chance to come out, Tony holds up one hand. “I know what you’re going to say, and I already told you, I’m not going to listen. Look, I’m—I’m going to check out the other rooms. Maybe they’ll have something. But I’ll be back, I _promise_ I’ll be back.” He splashes over to where Steve is standing, then kisses him hard, panting as he looks into his eyes—and Steve feels the three words he’s been dying to say right at the tip of his tongue. But no, he thinks. He should wait until they’re safe, or until… until they run out of time.

                “Okay,” is what he ends up saying in the end. “I’ll be waiting here.”

                He watches as his Tony—his beautiful, brave Tony—disappears into the hallway, and he wonders if it’s better or worse if he never sees him again.

 

It’s cold. _Shit_ , it’s cold. Tony can still remember that first conversation he had with Steve—God, it must have been ages ago—when he was standing on the wrong side of the rail and Steve was trying to get him to come back. _I hate the cold_ , Steve had said. Standing in freezing water that goes up to his thighs, Tony can see why.

                But he can’t let that deter him. The water might be bad, but there’s something that would be even worse, and that’s Steve drowning to death while handcuffed to a damned pole. Yeah, there’s no way in hell Tony’s going to let that happen.

                So he wades in deeper, heading into the adjacent room—he figures he should probably check the more flooded rooms first before he’s unable to go into them at all. There’s another key cabinet in here, but all of them are once again brass, and a quick check of the drawers floating around the room proves to be fruitless as well. Okay, he thinks. So this room is a bust. Maybe—maybe the next one.

                He’s in the middle of ransacking all the drawers of this new room—which doesn’t even have a key cabinet—when the ship creaks ominously, and he straightens and looks around, feeling a lump in his throat. “Hello?” he says, even though it’s a completely ridiculous, irrational thing to do—what the hell does he expect, the ship to talk back? Fuck, he’s losing it. Gritting his teeth, he pulls out more of the drawers, and that’s when the light dims and then goes out entirely, leaving him standing there in the dark, water up to his waist.

                “Oh, God,” he whispers, backing up until he hits a wall, gripping at it for dear life. “Oh God, oh God.”

                For a brief moment, he entertains the possibility of going back to Steve, apologizing, and then running back up to the top deck for dear life. But then he thinks of Steve right now, standing in the same darkness as him without even the luxury of movement, and he’s ashamed for even thinking it. Either they both make it out, or neither of them does.

                “Steve?” he calls out, needing to hear his voice.

                No answer. Too much water, too much creaking. He whimpers and jumps when something touches him, and he belatedly realizes it’s a floating chair.

                Finally, the lights come back on—he’d feared that they were off for good—and he peels himself away from the wall, hyperventilating. He—he can’t stay here too long. He needs to move. So he pushes all the crap away and exits the room, heading up the hall and passing by where Steve is along the way. He considers opening the door, which has managed to shut again, to check in on him, but no, he shouldn’t. There’s no _time_ , and what would he even tell him? _Sorry, I looked in a couple of rooms and found nothing and also the ship is really creepy when the lights go out_? Best to stay focused. With that, he bites his lip and continues forward, heading into the other adjacent room, looking around. He then repeats this with the next room in the hallway, again and again and again, and God, how is it possible that there’s nothing in any of these rooms that can help him?

                Now he’s in the last room before the hallway ends, tearing through the drawers again—and that’s when he sees it. A floating drawer with a gun inside. He lunges toward it, picking it up and inspecting it—a revolver, and yes, it’s loaded.

                He holds the gun to his chest for a moment, breathing hard as he stares into space. He’s running out of time, and this is the best he’s got. It’s going to have to be enough. Accepting this, he heads back into the hall, looking down it—and then he freezes. Jesus Christ. In the time it’s taken for him to find this one hope, the hallway looks nearly flooded. It’s unsettlingly dark near the end, and one of the lights is flickering irregularly. It’d send chills up his spine, if his spine wasn’t already currently soaking in freezing water. As bad as things look right now though, he doesn’t have a choice. He needs to get to Steve before it’s too late.

                Taking a deep breath, he starts down the hall, cursing loudly as previously dry parts of him are now soaking wet. This is awful, really awful. But he’s going to free Steve, and it’s going to be worth it, and everything will be alright.

                “Steve!” he cries as he bursts into the room again.

                The man in question looks up from where he’s currently crouched on a desk, face breaking into a smile that manages to be bright and terrified at the same time. “Tony!” he says. “You—you came back!”

                “Of course I came back,” Tony breathes, managing to slog toward him. “I-I think I found something that’ll help.” And he shows him the gun.

                Steve’s face goes pale when his eyes land on it—or at least, it would if he weren’t so pale already. “Jesus, Tony,” he says in a low voice, looking up at him. “I… I guess this is better than drowning.”

                Tony blinks at him a few times, not sure why he looks confused—and then it hits him. “I—no—God, Steve, I’m not going to shoot you!” he says. “Here, get your hands wet; it’ll make the metal more brittle—” Steve complies, and Tony continues, “I-I’m going to shoot the chain. Ideally.”

                Despite their situation, Steve glances up at him, cracking a small smile. “Ideally?”

                “I’m a genius,” Tony tells him. “But I can’t predict _everything_.” He likes to think he knows his guns. Actually, scratch that. He _does_ know his guns. He knows the gun he’s holding right now. But the pipe is metal, the chain is metal… even if he aims perfectly, which is hardly a given considering how much he’s shaking right now, there’s still a matter of the ricochet. The bullet could go anywhere. It could bounce off a wall, hit a pipe… or it could strike either one of them. If it strikes Steve and kills him… well, then Tony will make good on his promise—both of them make it out, or neither of them do. There is, after all, more than one bullet loaded. And if it strikes and kills _Tony_ , well. Freeing Steve, giving him a chance to live, will be worth it. “Bring your hands up and lay them against the pipe. Separate them as much as you can.”

                Steve nods as he quickly complies, fingers flexing. “W-water’s cold,” he says. “Can’t feel my hands anymore.”

                “I know, I’m sorry,” Tony replies. “Look, it’s—it’s going to be alright. Come here.” Of course, since Steve can’t actually go anywhere, Tony closes the distance between their lips, kissing him for all he’s worth. Regardless of what happens next… he wants this one last moment with Steve. “It’s going to be alright,” he repeats afterward, stepping back.

                Steve nods again, biting his lip as he looks off to the side, chest heaving. “I trust you, Tony,” he says.

                He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t, but Tony’s not going to dispute that right now. “I never should have doubted you, Steve,” he tells him as he raises the gun, taking deep breaths and willing himself to stop shaking. “You ready? I-I’m going to shoot now. Three, two, one…” And then he fires.

                For a moment, all he can hear is the ringing of the bullet in his ears; all he can see is a flash of white around him. But then the white fades, the ringing disappears, and he’s back in a flooding room with Steve gripping at a pole. His eyes drop down to his wrists at the same time he hears Steve cry out, “Tony, you did it!”

                Tony catches a glimpse of the chain—now broken in half—before stepping back and taking a deep breath, barely aware of his hand dropping the gun into the water; his arm’s gone numb. “Christ,” he breathes. “Thank God.” He takes a few more moments to collect himself, and then he splashes over to Steve, reaching out to embrace him—and that’s when the world goes white again. “Fuck,” he gasps, sagging a little in Steve’s arms; dimly, he can see the other man’s eyes widen, lips parting.

                “Tony!” he hears; Steve is moving his arm, and everything momentarily vanishes in a flash of pain. “Jesus, you’re bleeding—”

                Tony groans and shakes his head, trying to clear it. He knows why. “Ricochet,” he explains weakly, trying to pull away and wincing again when that just results in more pain. How bad is it? He can barely tell. There’s blood starting to stain his lifebelt, up near his shoulder—at least it didn’t hit his chest. And it’s not gushing, either. Small victories. “I-I don’t think it hit anything important. It’ll be okay, Steve. We have to get out of here.”

                Steve wavers for a moment, like he wants to talk back, but one look down at the water pooling above their waists is enough to convince him otherwise. “I’ll look at that when we’re higher up,” he says finally, reaching down to take Tony’s hand, the one connected to the good arm. “Let’s go.”

                Together, they make it into the hallway, and Tony turns toward the direction he’d taken on the way down, motioning for Steve to follow as they trudge through the water. He sticks the hand attached to his bad shoulder in the pocket of his trousers, trying to ignore how completely and utterly uncomfortable he is. Never mind that he has a damned _bullet_ in his shoulder—his lower half has been submerged in freezing water for the past hour. Or so he thinks, anyway; he can hardly keep track of the passage of time anymore.

                But he has Steve now. And despite getting shot and slowly turning into an icicle, he doesn’t regret it one bit.

                “Which way?” Steve yells as they reach the end of the hall, struggling to be heard over the sound of water surging all around them.

                “Left!” Tony yells back, and then they’re off again. They continue doing this for what feels like the next few hours, though in reality it’s probably much less than that—but God, walking in this is as exhausting as all get-out, and he’s tiring fast. Finally, though, they reach a staircase, and Steve pulls him up, breathing hard as they finally reach dry footing.

                “Okay,” Steve pants, turning Tony around so that they’re facing each other. “Let me look at you.”

                “It’s nothing,” Tony insists, wanting them to _keep moving_ , but Steve is already removing the lifebelt, hissing as he sees the bloodstain on his shirt. “Really, Steve, there’s nothing you can do—”

                “I’m not letting you run around like this!” Steve says, pulling away and taking off his shirt. Before Tony can ask what the hell he’s doing, or even just admire the way he looks in just his undershirt, Steve is folding it up, sticking it under Tony’s own shirt and pressing down on it, causing him to hiss in pain. “I’m sorry,” he continues apologetically. “But we gotta stop the bleeding.”

                “Mother hen,” Tony manages weakly. His eyes trail along Steve’s glistening, wet arms for a moment, and he looks up at him dazedly, smiling slightly. “You’re really beautiful.”

                Steve laughs shakily, picking up the lifebelt and putting it back on Tony. “Thanks. So are you.” He stands there for another moment, pressing down on the wound, and then he takes a deep breath and steps back, taking hold of Tony’s hand again. “Press down on that with your other hand. Let’s go.”

                “Wait,” Tony protests as he reaches up to keep Steve’s folded shirt in place, even though he’d wanted them to go mere moments ago. “It’s freezing. You need something to wear.”

                “It’ll be fine,” Steve promises, starting to lead them down this new hallway. He turns to him and gives him a dazzling smile, and the sight of it makes Tony’s heart ache. “You came for me. I’m gonna be all warm and fuzzy from that for a while.”

                And though Tony likes the sentiment, this isn’t enough for him, so he stops, tugging on Steve’s arm to get him to stop as well. “Here,” he says, gritting his teeth as he pulls the lifebelt off of him, putting it over Steve’s head instead. “This is the least I can do. And don’t fight with me. If you take that off I swear I’m going to run back downstairs.”

                Steve frowns down at it, but he’s smiling a little by the time he looks at Tony again, leaning forward to press his lips against his nose. “Fine,” he says. “Let’s go.”

                So they move, going up whenever they find a staircase, always running uphill. Tony wonders how much time is left and how many people are still on the ship. He remembers the diagrams he’d seen earlier, remembers the way his mouth had gone dry when he’d done the calculations in his head—because according to his math, there weren’t enough of them. Weren’t enough by half. And yet, given everything he’d heard—he’d thought it wouldn’t matter.

                Fate has a way of kicking you in the ass sometimes, it seems.

                They burst onto the top deck, and it’s a cacophony of light and sound, of blinding flares and screaming passengers. In the distance, Tony can see some lifeboats drifting aimlessly, but there are still so many people on board. Too many. How many of them are going to be dead by morning?

                “It’s too crowded here,” he tells Steve. “We need to find someplace better.”

                Steve nods, and they shove their way past several people, Tony gritting his teeth and trying to ignore the ache in his shoulder. The crowd begins to thin out, but from the looks of it, there are still lifeboats here—Tony’s heart leaps, and for a moment he thinks that everything will be alright after all.

                And that’s when he sees his father.

                He stops cold, causing Steve to stumble when he tries to move without him, backing away a few steps and shaking his head. “We have to go back,” Tony says.

                Steve blinks and frowns. “What? Why? What are you talking about?”

                “My father,” Tony says, eyes fixated on him. “I punched him. If he sees us, it’s… it’s not going to be pretty.”

                Steve looks back at the small crowd of people around the lifeboat here, all jostling to get on even though it’s almost full, and nods to himself when he seems to spot Howard after a moment. Then he turns back to Tony, placing a hand against his cheek. “Don’t worry,” he tells him. “I’m here for you. It’s gonna be alright.”

                Tony wavers on the spot, looking uncertain as he reaches out, gripping at Steve’s lifebelt. “Promise?” It’s childish, but he hardly cares. He’s on a ship that’s sinking into freezing water. Losing his maturity is probably acceptable.

                “Promise.” Steve presses another kiss to his nose, and they cautiously make their way toward the lifeboat, where one of the crew members is shouting something—

                And Tony’s heart sinks. The call is still out for women and children only, and neither he nor Steve—nor his father, really—have a chance in hell of getting on.

                But then, to his surprise, he glances over at Howard, who hasn’t noticed him yet—and _he’s boarding the lifeboat_. Tony stares at him, mouth agape, and then he looks back at the crew member—oh. _Oh_. There’s a wad of cash sticking out of his pocket, and everything becomes clear. Fuck. Howard is, of course, the type to make his own luck. “Come on, Steve—” he begins, starting to tug the other man away, not wanting to watch this, but then Howard’s gaze snaps up, and suddenly they lock eyes, Tony’s throat going dry again.

                For what seems like an eternity, they just stare at each other, and Tony struggles to figure out what his father is thinking. There’s anger in his eyes, yes, but… something more. Something Tony can’t quite make out.

                And then time returns to normal. The next thing he knows, Howard is brandishing another thick wad of bills, pointing right at him, and someone— _Steve_ —is pushing him forward, urging him toward the lifeboat. “Get on the boat, Tony,” he hears Howard say.

                Panicking, he stops dead in his tracks, turning back to look at Steve. No matter what happens between him and Howard, it seems that at the very least, he doesn’t want to see Tony die—and that means something, it really does, but—but—”I-I can’t get on,” he tells Steve. “Not without you.”

                “Don’t be stubborn,” Steve tells him, hands cupping Tony’s face even though Howard’s watching them. “Tony, your father’s giving you a chance to live. Take it.” One thumb reaches up, stroking Tony’s cheek. “Everything’s gonna be fine. There are more lifeboats. I’ll get on one of them, and when a rescue ship comes we’ll meet there, okay?”

                Tony shivers under his touch, wanting to _believe_ him so badly, but he can’t, he can’t. Without a bribe, Steve has no chance. He’ll be stuck on this ship until it goes under, and then… “No,” he says. Is Steve crazy? Tony went down into the bowels of the ship to free him, and he’s not letting all that hard work go to waste. He can’t walk away from Steve. He won’t. “I’m not leaving you.”

                “Oh, Tony,” Steve says softly, and he leans forward to kiss his forehead.

                Tony relaxes for a moment, thinking he’s got Steve convinced—but then suddenly Steve’s arms are around him as he bodily hauls Tony onto the lifeboat before a crew member pushes Steve away. Tony reaches out, needing to touch him one more time, but Steve’s too far now, and the lifeboat is lowering and oh God, this can’t be happening. He makes an attempt to stand up, but his father pulls him back down, growling at him to stop it, and in response Tony makes a soft sound in the back of his throat, looking up at Steve.

                “It’s gonna be okay,” Steve calls down to him, eyes shining.

                Tony doesn’t respond. What can he even say? It’s not going to be okay; he _knows_ it’s not going to be okay. He’s being separated from Steve and while he might live, _Steve will not_. He doesn’t care that he’s known him for all of what, two, three days? It doesn’t matter. None of that matters. The only thing that does matter is that Steve is the most important person in his life, and Tony is leaving him to die alone. After everything that’s gone on, after all they’ve been through… is this how it ends? Tony being lowered away to safety, while Steve remains on a doomed ship, certain to die?

                Tony never even got to thank him. Not for pulling him back over the edge the other night; he vaguely remembers thanking him then. But for _everything else_. For being there for him, for changing his life, for opening his eyes. For showing him that he has a life worth living, because Steve is in it, and because—because Tony loves him.

                But now there’s no more time. The other man is too far off, slipping away with every passing second, and Tony is helpless, unable to do anything but stare up into those blue eyes he’s come to know and love. Steve—Steve can’t know how beautiful he looks right now, blond hair falling into his face as a flare lights him up from behind, framing those perfect features. He must be scared. Tony _knows_ he must be scared. But despite all that, there’s no fear in his face at all, just determination and affection and relief and maybe something more.

                So brave, Tony thinks. So beautiful.

                He looks at his father. Howard will be safe, and he’d cared enough to save Tony as well. That’s enough for him. No matter how much they might despise each other at times, Howard is still his father, and Tony is still his son.

                And no matter what happens, Tony will not let Steve die alone.

                “I’m sorry, Father,” he tells him as they pass by a lower deck, and he turns and jumps back onto the ship.

 

It wasn’t so long ago that Steve had wondered how someone could be ready to die. How was such a thing possible? How could someone know what was going to happen, and yet still be able to come to terms with it?

                But as he stands here now, watching as Tony’s boat is laboriously lowered inch by inch into the water, he thinks he understands. Because now, regardless of what happens to _him_ … Tony is going to be safe. Tony is going to live. And even though he’ll be reunited with his father, Steve’s hopes are high that he’ll be able to break free of his influence and do the things he was always meant to do—to design planes, to fly high into the sky. Steve’s changed his life for the better, and there’s no higher honor, really. And if he passes tonight, he’ll be able to do so with no regrets.

                Ready or not, though, it still doesn’t stop his heart from aching as he meets Tony’s desperate gaze, wanting so badly to touch him, kiss him, hold him one more time. Belatedly, he realizes that he never did tell him he loves him—but it doesn’t matter now. It’s too late, and it just seems too cruel to shout it down at him now, at the moment of their parting. It’s best, he thinks, to just keep quiet.

                So he watches, smiling for him as they gaze at each other and willing his mind to burn this image of Tony into his mind for however much time he has left. His beautiful, smart Tony, who’s going to go out and change the world someday, because he’s going to survive.

                And then the impossible happens. One moment, Tony’s still sitting there on the boat, breaking eye contact to look at his father, and the next—the next—

                “Tony!” he cries out, heart leaping into his throat as he sees the other man leap off the boat, back onto the ship. Dimly, he can hear Tony’s father shouting something, but he tunes it out; he tunes _everything_ out, because Tony—Tony’s back on the ship, and oh God, what on earth is he _thinking_? As fast as he can, he dashes away from the rail, running back inside and taking the steps down two at a time—and there Tony is, looking worse than ever with his arm hanging limp at his side and shirt soaked in blood, but then their eyes meet and Tony looks at him like he thinks Steve is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and now they’re running into each other’s arms and Tony gasps, eyes squeezing shut as he holds onto him like a lifeline.

                “You idiot,” Steve tells him, even as he holds him close, pressing kisses against every inch of his face that he can reach, fingers curling into his hair. “You damned _idiot_. What were you thinking, jumping back onto the ship?” He kisses him some more, continuing, “Don’t you know it’s gonna sink?”

                “Yes,” Tony breathes, and he’s kissing him just as much, fisting his fingers around Steve’s lifebelt and pulling him close, like he needs as much of him as he can possibly get. “Steve, Steve, I’m so sorry, but—but I couldn’t leave you here alone; I _need_ you—”

                Steve quiets him with a longer kiss against his lips, brushing some of the hair away from his eyes. “You idiot,” he repeats, but he slips his arms around him afterward, holding Tony against him and letting the other man nuzzle against his shoulder. He wants to be upset, because _God_ , Tony’s just thrown away his life for him, but his heart feels like it’s about to burst. “You’re the most brilliant, amazing idiot I’ve ever known. But you’re my idiot. And I love you.”

                At that, Tony lifts his head up to stare at him, eyes wide. “What was that?” he breathes.

                Steve blinks at him, playing over what he just said in his head—oh. That. This wasn’t how he’d planned on telling him, but apparently it just slipped out on its own, and what good would it do to deny it? He swallows, stroking his cheek with a finger. “I love you,” he repeats, feeling oddly calm now, despite all the commotion around them. “Is… is that alright?”

                Tony stares at him for a moment longer, then laughs, his good arm clutching at Steve. “God, what kind of a question is that? Of course it’s alright.” He sobers a moment later, looking back at him. “I think this is the first time I’ve ever heard someone say those words to me. Except for maybe my mother.”

                “Oh, Tony,” Steve murmurs, and his heart aches again. “I-it’s okay. I’ll say it to you as much as you wanna hear it.” In whatever time they have left.

                Tony smiles a little, reaching up to touch Steve’s hair. Steve can see the muscles of his throat working, like he’s struggling to say something—Steve almost thinks he knows just what it is—but can’t. Finally, he seems to just give up, instead leaning forward to kiss him deeply. It’s not _quite_ what Steve had been hoping for, but he hardly minds this, and so he shuts his eyes, kissing him back. When they’re done, Tony goes back to resting his head against his shoulder, leaning against him. “I think I’ve been waiting forever for you,” he says quietly. “And I’m not letting you go so easily.”

                “Glad to hear it,” Steve replies. He pulls away to look at him, and that’s when he remembers—Tony’s arm is covered in blood. “…You’re bleeding.”

                Blinking, Tony follows his gaze to look at his shoulder, then looks back at Steve and shrugs. “It doesn’t matter,” he says.

                “It does to me. Come on.” Taking Tony’s good hand, he leads them to the dining room, which by now is abandoned—he can already see water creeping in. He approaches one of the tables, whisking the tablecloth right off and ignoring the clatter of the utensils as they fall to the ground. Then he turns to Tony, wrapping it securely around his shoulder before tucking the ends in so it won’t fall off—Tony squirms and hisses in pain as Steve works, but otherwise remains still. “There,” he says once he’s done. Now hopefully he’ll stop losing so much blood. “That feel better?”

                Tony glances down at it, then nods, looking a little dazed. “Yeah. Thanks.”

                “Good.” Steve pulls Tony toward him again, eying the water as it comes closer and closer. “So what’s the plan now? Stay here? Go somewhere else?”

                For a long time, Tony doesn’t answer, and Steve starts to wonder if he’s even all the way here. But then his head snaps up, and it’s like someone turned on a light bulb in his head. “I know what we have to do,” he says, eyes bright. Unexpectedly, he leans forward, giving Steve another kiss, and then he takes his hand and squeezes it. “We have a chance. Follow me, and I’ll explain along the way.”

                Steve stares at him, trying to process it—they have a chance? How is that even possible? After a moment, though, he remembers to nod, squeezing Tony’s hand back. “Alright,” he says. He has no idea what Tony’s thinking or how good their chances actually are or _anything_ , but it doesn’t matter. Whatever comes—whether it be hell or high water—they’re going to face it together now, and that’s the only thing that does matter.

 

Tony emerges out of the water gasping, and for a wild, terrifying moment, he has no idea where he is or how he got here. Panting hard and treading water as best as he can with an injured arm, he looks around, taking in the scene around him. He’s surrounded on all sides by screaming, frightened people; meanwhile, not so far away, the ship is still above water, but probably not for long. The noise is distracting, but if he concentrates hard enough, he can remember things, things like the steadiness of Steve’s hands as he held the table still, letting Tony make the modifications to it—things like the way Steve had captured his gaze and told him that they were going to be alright, right before they’d gotten off and the ship had broken into two—

                Oh, shit.

                “Steve!” he calls out raspily, heart leaping into his throat as he tries to swim past everyone else, ignoring the screams and the pain and the cold and everything that isn’t Steve. “Steve!”

                He’s terrified. This can’t be the end. Not now, not after he’s spent so long trying to secure safety for the both of them. No, he tells himself. Steve—Steve is out here somewhere. He just has to find him.

                “Tony!” he hears at last, and he inhales sharply in relief, getting a mouthful of seawater in the process and coughing it back up. “Tony, where are you?”

                “Steve!” Steeling himself, Tony manages to swim in the direction of the voice, nearly sobbing when his eyes land on Steve, who apparently managed to emerge beyond most of the other people, far away from the ship. One hand is above water, grasping tightly onto the makeshift raft Tony had built for them—thank God one of them had managed to hold onto it. “Oh, God, Steve,” he breathes, going over to him and reaching up to touch one freezing hand to his face, making sure he’s really here. “A-are you alright?”

                Steve manages a breathless laugh, taking Tony’s hand and leading him away from the other people. “I-I’m fine,” he says. “But look at you! Y-you have a bullet in your shoulder. Are _you_ okay?”

                Now that Steve is asking, all the pain and hurt and cold Tony had been suppressing comes back to him in a rush, and he gasps, biting his lip. “I-I’ll be alright,” he tells him. Never mind that his teeth are chattering so bad he thinks they’re going to fall off any second now, or that the seawater against his wound makes him feel like his shoulder is on fire. He _will_ be alright. Steve is here, the raft is here. E-everything’s going to be fine.

                “O-okay,” Steve says, though he looks uncertain. “W-we should get on the raft, then.”

                Tony nods, though he makes no move to board. Right now, with his arm the way it is… he’s not entirely sure he can move it, and the idea of dragging himself onto the raft makes him want to just stay right here in the freezing water instead. “Y-you get on first.”

                Steve frowns at him. “You’re the i-i-injured one. Y-you need to get out of the water.”

                “W-we both need to,” Tony tells him, setting his jaw in a vain attempt to make his teeth stop chattering. “A-and I’m saying for y-you to get on first. And either you c-c-can argue with me a-and we can both spend m-more time in the water, o-or you can l-listen and g-get on.”

                Steve purses his lips, and it’s clear that he’s not happy with this. He needs to learn how to be more selfish, really. After a moment, though, he does decide to comply, appraising the raft before gingerly crawling on as Tony watches with bated breath. Truth be told, he’s never built anything like this before, and he’s not actually sure how well it’ll float with just Steve, much less the both of them, especially when this thing was clobbered together on an incredibly tight deadline. Still, he’s Tony goddamn Stark, and he knows what he’s doing.

                With a soft grunt, Steve makes it on, and Tony lets out a sigh of relief, breath clouding the air in front of him. Alright, he thinks. Steve is out of the water, and that’s the most important thing. He’s going to be safe.

                “Well?” Steve presses once he’s on, peering over at him. “C-come on, Tony. You too.”

                Tony looks at him, then shakes his head, hands gripping at the raft. “I-I’ll be fine here,” he manages. While it now looks like the raft can definitely hold one person, two is a very different story. Sure, he trusts that it can do so, because again, he’s Tony goddamn Stark, but he can already imagine trying to get on—clinging to the edge with one bad arm, pulling at it futilely… then capsizing it. And he can’t risk that, not with Steve on it.

                “Tony,” Steve says, voice managing to be hard even in the freezing cold. “Either you get on, or I’ll get off again. Your choice.” And he holds out his hands.

                Tony grits his teeth. How is Steve real? How is there someone in this world who _cares_ about him so much? “Y-you’re ridiculous,” he manages. Nonetheless, he reaches out, taking hold of Steve’s hands as he continues, “I-I’m blaming you i-if the raft f-flips over.”

                “It’s n-not gonna flip over,” Steve says, and he hauls him on.

                It’s not easy. Steve is mostly lying down, because sitting upright would mess with the weight distribution too much, and Tony’s shoulder is kind enough to give him hell—he has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from crying out. Slowly but surely, though, Steve pulls him out of the water, and Tony reaches out with his bad arm to push himself up the rest of the way. Finally, he’s lying there on the raft, gasping from the pain and the cold and the _everything_ , but he’s here now.

                “Steve,” he says, and he turns a little, wincing again as he agitates his arm. God, it’s so fucking cold, and yet his arm is the opposite of numb. Sometime between getting the hell off the ship and onto the raft, it seems like his wound has opened again, the tablecloth Steve had wrapped around him earlier turning red. Not much he can do about it now, though. “I-I think I liked lying in the c-c-car with you more.”

                Steve laughs, and even though it’s weak and a little pained, Tony still thinks it’s beautiful. “M-me too,” he says. “B-but it’s okay. W-when this is all over, w-we can find another car t-to lie down in.”

                “Y-you think?” Tony whispers. He scoots closer to him, needing more of the other man. Doesn’t matter if they’re both freezing right now. It’s not his warmth he wants, it’s _him_.

                “Yeah,” Steve whispers right back. “T-the lifeboats will be b-b-back in a moment, once the s-ship is gone…”

                Together, they lift their heads and look. The ship is pointed upward now, floating for the time being, but it’ll probably start sinking any second now—Tony groans and squeezes his eyes shut, burrowing against Steve. He can’t watch this. It’s already bad enough hearing the screaming of everyone around him, and he doesn’t even want to think about how much worse it’ll get when those still on the ship hit the water as well. “It’s so c-c-cold,” he says.

                “I know,” Steve replies quietly. “I know.” Tony can feel him reaching up, running his hand through his hair, though he has his doubts as to how comfortable it is. Surely his head is just a mass of icicles by now, but if Steve wants to give him affection, he’s hardly going to turn it away. “B-but it’s gonna be okay, Tony. W-we just have to hold on a l-little bit longer.”

                “L-longer,” Tony repeats. He’s starting to feel like he’s losing himself. It’s cold and he’s hurting and the two of them are drifting somewhere on the Atlantic, surrounded by the dying and the dead. By morning, what will have changed? Steve says the lifeboats will come, but even if they do, then what? Is more help coming? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know a damn thing, and he’s starting to not even give a shit anymore. The only thing anchoring him right now is Steve. “T-talk to me,” he whispers.

                Steve blinks at him—slowly, like even that small effort is too much work for him—but then he nods and quirks his lips. “S-sure,” he says. “W-what about?”

                “W-whatever you want,” Tony says. He doesn’t care what. He just wants to hear Steve’s voice.

                “Okay.” Steve doesn’t say anything for a moment, blue eyes drifting, and then he reaches up, fingers brushing against the edges of Tony’s goatee. “I want m-more time with you,” he says.

                Tony makes a quiet sound in the back of his throat, pressing closer to Steve’s hand as he shivers violently. “Me, too.” He wants eternity with Steve. These last two days have been the happiest of his life, but it’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. “M-maybe… o-once we get to land… I’ll t-t-take us to California. I hear it’s w-warm there.”

                “S-sounds nice,” Steve replies with a tiny smile. “C-can’t wait.” He hesitates, then continues, “B-but before we head west… I-I wanna go to B-Brooklyn. M-my mother… s-she’s buried there. Cy-Cypress Hills Cemetery. H-her name is Sarah Rogers. W-will you come with me, Tony? To v-visit her?”

                There’s… something in his voice that Tony can’t quite make out. A faint note of pleading, and… something else. He’s not sure what, but he’s hardly about to deny him. “Yeah,” he says. “W-we’ll go together.”

                “Thanks,” Steve says quietly.

                They fall silent then, arms wrapped around each other as they shiver together. There’s still screaming and shouting from all around, and if he twists a little, he can see one of the officers clutching at a floating piece of debris, blowing on a whistle. But as far as he can tell, the lifeboats are all still far away, like they’re waiting for something. For what? For more help? For them to all freeze first?

                He presses his lips to Steve’s neck and tries to push it all out of mind.

                Time passes, and eventually, the screams fade away. The officer with the whistle seems to have given up. The lifeboats are no closer than they were before.

                Tony turns to stare up at the stars and entertains the possibility that the both of them will die tonight. “It’s g-getting quiet,” he says, and his voice is as thin as a reed.

                Steve’s fingers curl around Tony’s wrist gently, reassuringly, even though they feel like ice against his skin. “Yeah,” the other man replies. “T-there’s a wind, too.”

                Tony exhales, watching his breath be blown away. He hadn’t even noticed the wind before, but now that he’s aware of it, he feels like it’s cutting into his skin, leeching away the last remnants of his warmth. He wonders how long the two of them can last like this, out in the open and draped in wet clothes, the wind gusting across their bodies. It probably doesn’t help that he’s lost so much blood by now, either. But it’s not something he wants to think about for long, so he turns back to Steve, looking at the ice crystals forming against his skin, his hair. Weakly, he reaches up, brushing some of it away. “Cold,” he murmurs.

                Steve gazes back at him in return, eyes intense, and Tony feels his breath catch at the attention. Then, without saying anything, Steve turns away, leaning over their raft and paddling weakly at the water with one arm.

                “W-what are you doing?” Tony asks, but Steve doesn’t answer, just keeps on paddling. When the other man stops, Tony looks around—he thinks that maybe he’s facing a different direction now, but it’s hard to tell when everything looks the same. “What was t-that about?” he tries again.

                Steve wordlessly turns back toward him, reaching over and curling around his body—and somehow, Tony feels a little bit warmer now. Or maybe he just feels less cold. “I love you,” Steve says, very quietly.

                And it’s strange, Tony thinks, how he can be here floating on a glorified piece of debris in the ocean and still have his breath taken away by those three words—three words that he himself can’t yet bear to say. But it’s stupid, really. So damn stupid. Because he does love Steve, more than he’s ever loved anyone in his entire life, and if—if tonight is it—then doesn’t Steve deserve to know? Tony thinks he does. So slowly, he reaches down with both hands, even though it makes his bad shoulder ache again, and he takes hold of Steve’s, squeezing gently. “I love you too,” he whispers back.

                Steve blinks at him, his face breaking into a wide smile, and for a blissful, beautiful moment, Tony feels like the sun’s come out and everything is warm and dry and perfect again. “C-come here,” he says, and he leans forward to press a kiss to his forehead, then his nose, then his lips; Tony makes no move at all to stop him. “W-want you to know something,” he continues, and he presses a few more kisses to his skin before going back to gazing at him—Tony finds himself reminded of when they initially met, looking into those blue eyes for the first time. So beautiful. So, so beautiful. “I-I’d do this all again in a h-h-heartbeat, Tony. I would. B-because I got to meet you, and that m-makes it all worth it.”

                Tony swallows, feeling a lump rise in his throat and fighting to keep it back. “Me too,” he says, and he’s never been more truthful. “Y-you’ve made my life worth l-living, Steve.” He lets out a trembling laugh, brushing away some more of the ice on the other man’s face. “T-two nights ago, I wouldn’t have cared if this ship w-went under. But now…” Now he cares very much. Not just about his own life, but also Steve’s. In many ways, he thinks that maybe Steve is more important to the world than he is.

                “G-glad to hear it,” Steve murmurs. He takes a shaky breath and exhales, and once more Tony watches as the little puff of air is carried away into the night. “W-when you g-get to land—”

                “When _we_ —”

                “Shh,” Steve says, and he places a cold finger against Tony’s lips, quieting him. His hand is trembling. “When you g-get to land, y-you’re gonna design an airplane, a-and you’re gonna b-build it, and then you’re g-gonna take off in it. A-and you’re gonna fly, Tony. Y-you’re g-gonna go h-high and f-fast and you’re g-g-gonna be unstoppable. P-promise me. Promise me you’re gonna f-fly away.”

                Tony thinks that maybe there’s something more in his words beyond literal flying, and he thinks that maybe he knows what the other man means by it. So he nods slowly, kissing the bit of Steve’s finger against his mouth. “I promise,” he says.

                Steve smiles then, and they close the small distance between them, holding each other like their lives depend on it.

 

And time marches on.

                Tony gazes back at the stars with half-lidded eyes, watching them twinkle into and out of existence. The night is silent around him, and all he’s aware of is the sky, the ocean, and Steve wrapped around his body.

                So this is how it ends, he thinks.

                Then a light shines into his face for a moment before disappearing. Tony frowns slightly but remains unmoving otherwise, willing to write it off as a hallucination.

                But then the light appears again, and this time, he turns his head—almost feeling like he can _hear_ his frozen skin crackling and breaking as he does so—and he looks at the light. A light in the middle of the ocean that’s not the sun or the moon. Why is there a light here? What business does such a thing have among the dead?

                Then he sees the little lifeboat the light is attached to, and he realizes where it’s coming from.

                His breath quickening, he sits up and turns back to Steve, hope lighting up his eyes. They’re going to make it, he thinks. All the crap they’ve gone through, all the shit they’ve had to deal with—it’ll all have been worth it, because a lifeboat’s come back, and now they’ll be safe. “Steve,” he says, and his voice is so weak it comes out as a wheeze. “Steve, w-wake up. There’s a boat.”

                No answer. It’s okay. He’s sleeping deeply. They’ve both had a long day, after all. But it’s time to get up now so that they can get on the boat, and with that in mind, he pushes at Steve’s chest a little, rubbing his shoulder. “T-there’s a boat, Steve. Wake up.”

                He pauses for a moment, chest heaving as he watches Steve carefully for any signs of wakefulness. When Steve doesn’t move, he practically shoves at him, voice rising and scratching against his throat—”Steve. Steve! Wake up, Steve, you have to—y-you have to wake up—”

                Steve doesn’t move.

                “Oh, God,” Tony whispers, voice cracking, and he gives his shoulder one more shake, like maybe this will somehow help, but it doesn’t, of course it doesn’t. Steve is gone. After everything that’s happened, after everything Tony’s done to try and keep Steve alive, because dammit, the world needs more people like him—this is how fate decides to reward them. Spare Tony, but kill the kindest, noblest, most amazing man he’s ever known.

                He lets out a choked sob, resting his head back against the raft as he looks at Steve’s face, his closed eyes, and he reaches out to brush the frost off it once more, fingers tracing over his nose, his lips, his jaw. The light shines over him again, but he ignores it this time. The boat doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing matters. He had one reason to go on, and now it’s gone.

                Tony closes his eyes, pressing close to him, and then he waits to die.

                But almost as soon as his eyes shut, he remembers—he remembers the last thing Steve said to him, remembers the final promise he made to the man he loved— _loves_ —and he gasps, eyes fluttering back open. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how much he wants to just give up and meet Steve again in whatever realm that is beyond life, he can’t, he _can’t_. He has to live, he has to fly, he has to keep his promise.

                Suddenly, he’s sitting up as best as he can, looking back toward the light. It’s further away now, but—but he can’t give up. “Come back,” he says hoarsely, but the sound of his voice is lost to the ocean. “C-come—come back—!”

                When the lifeboat keeps on moving away, he looks around frantically, trying to find something, _anything_ that will make some noise. His eyes land on the officer he’d seen earlier, whistle still in his mouth, and he feels himself swallow. He can’t stay here with Steve, he realizes. He has to leave him.

                He’s in the process of turning back to him when he feels something in his pocket pressing against his leg.

                Confused, he shifts his hips, sticking his hand into his pocket and pulling the item out, and his breath catches. It’s the ring. Not the awful, giant one Steve had drawn him in, but the other one. The one he’d originally meant for Sunset. He turns it in his hands, enthralled, remembering showing it to Steve earlier, mere hours ago. Jesus, by now it feels like a lifetime.

                He looks back at the lifeboat, and then he looks at the ring, the sapphire shining in the starlight, and from there he thinks back to holding out his hand to Steve, asking him to put on the other ring.

                “God,” he whispers again, and he reaches out with his good arm, embracing Steve one more time. Then carefully, carefully, he takes hold of Steve’s wrist, moving it away so that it’s not wrapped around him anymore, eyes squeezed shut as he does so. His beautiful, noble Steve, he thinks. Curled around him until the very end, as though he could somehow protect Tony from all the evils of the world.

                Freed now, he manages to roll off the raft, landing in the water—and Christ, suddenly the wind is back with a vengeance. But instead of leaving just yet, he pulls out the ring again, and then he takes Steve’s hand and slips it on. “I l-love you, Steve,” he tells him one more time, voice no more than a whisper. “I’ll always love you. I-I’ll always be yours. And I p-promise you I’m g-going to fly, a-and I also promise you—I a-also promise you we’re going t-to meet again.” He hauls his upper body back onto the raft enough to press one last, fleeting kiss to Steve’s cold lips, and then he makes himself let go.

                When the lifeboat comes for him, he’s nearly frozen, but still alive. But even as they wrap him up in blankets, trying to get him to lie down, he struggles against their hands and sits up anyway, ignoring the searing pain in his shoulder. And he looks over the edge, looks over at the figure lying motionless on a makeshift raft, just one body in a sea of hundreds—

                And that is the last time he ever sees Steve Rogers.

 

Tony doesn’t remember the rest of the night very well.

                Sometime between the rescue and dawn, another ship comes, and they are brought on board. He is passed off onto a doctor, who hisses and fusses over his shoulder, eventually managing to remove the bullet after several long, agonizing minutes, but Tony doesn’t cry, doesn’t scream, just grits his teeth and bears the pain.

                “That’s going to leave a scar,” the doctor tells him afterward.

                “I don’t care,” Tony says.

                He’s placed on strict bed rest then, and the doctor gives him a few pills of Aspirin with accompanying instructions to not go anywhere. So as soon as Tony’s left alone, he gets up, ignoring the Aspirin and heading outside toward the rail, a blanket wrapped tight around his body as he gazes out over the water.

                They’re far away now. The bodies are out of sight, and the only things that remain from the night before are the ocean and the wind. Tony remembers the wind, remembers how agonizing it was until finally it died down, only to start up again as soon as he’d left Steve. But as he feels it blowing into his face now, constant and overbearing, it suddenly occurs to him that the wind had never really died down at all.

                And his heart nearly stops beating.

 

A lifetime later, the ship arrives at New York, and Tony gazes up at the Statue of Liberty as it passes by, heedless of the rain washing over him. She’s a beautiful piece of art; she really is, and for a moment, Tony lets his eyes shut and thinks of strong hands covered with charcoal—and then he thinks of golden hair and sky-blue eyes, and it’s only when he feels hard metal pressing into his stomach does he realize that he’s bent over the rail, tears streaking down his face as he voids what little substance there is in his stomach into the waters below.

                Not so long afterward, one of the rescue ship’s officers makes his way toward him, clipboard in one hand, umbrella in another. “Excuse me,” the man says, and he makes no mention of the tears or the redness of his eyes—or maybe in the dark and the rain, he just can’t see them. “Could I get your name, sir?”

                And for a long time, Tony just stares at him, at the man’s eyes and nose and lips. He’s not Steve, he thinks. There was only one Steve, and now he’s gone.

                Tony looks away, back into the rain, and he thinks again of crinkled eyes and beautiful smiles.

                “Rogers,” he says. “Anthony Rogers.”

 

The media is waiting for them as soon as the ship docks. They have their cameras and their lights and their never-ending questions, and Tony decides he’ll have none of it. Blanket still wrapped tight around himself, he worms his way into a crowd full of steerage and gets off with them, praying the reporters will avoid him in favor of the wealthy elites. Sunset. His father.

                A part of him wonders if this is right, disappearing into the city under a different name and never making contact with them again. It’s probably not approved behavior, but then again, when has he ever cared about whether or not anyone approves of him? And sure, a part of him knows that he can’t stay hidden forever. He’s going to do things. Invent things. Sooner or later, his picture will be plastered across all the newspapers, and sooner or later, someone will see. But then he thinks— _so what_. And so he walks, past the bursts of light as the flashes go off, past the clamor of the reporters and their searching eyes.

                Eventually, the people around him disperse, heading for their family or their friends or wherever it was they planned on going when the ship arrived, and soon enough, it’s just Tony, and still he walks.

                He manages to get to a friend’s house that night, makes him swear not to tell anyone before collapsing onto his couch and passing out for the next twelve hours. The next morning, he borrows some money—because hell, he’s just lost his entire life with the sinking of the ship—and then he goes out to buy some flowers.

                One car ride later, Tony finds himself standing in front of Sarah Rogers’ grave.

                He doesn’t know what to do or say. He’s here because he promised a dead man that he’d come visit with him, and just because Steve is gone doesn’t mean he should go back on that promise. After a long moment of contemplation, he sets the flowers down against her gravestone, deciding if he should push aside the other flowers there; they’re dried and withered and browned, like they’ve been out for far too long—but then he thinks of Steve standing exactly where Tony’s standing now, holding those very same flowers, and he doesn’t disturb them.

                Tony straightens when he’s done, looking down at the stone. “You raised a hell of a boy,” he says, and then he turns and leaves.

                From there, he heads west. He starts a company. He works with airplanes and electricity and radio and he changes the world. When the Great War rolls around, he fights as a pilot. And when the next world war shakes the earth, he spends his days designing fighter jets for the United States, and he is famous and immortalized and loved by a nation.

                Sometimes, he reads about his father and Sunset in the newspapers. Sunset marries some other rich man, of course, and the papers seem to portray them as happy enough. And his father—well. All the wars certainly aren’t hurting his business. But neither of them ever makes any notion to contact him—Tony doesn’t even know if they know he’s alive, though he suspects they do—and he returns the favor.

                Throughout the years, not a week goes by in which he’s not in the air, soaring over shining lakes and quiet lands, through glittering clouds and roaring winds. He flies high and he flies fast.

                He’s unstoppable.

 

Tony had sworn to himself as soon as he’d gotten off the ship that he’d never set foot on one again, and for eighty long years, he does exactly that.

                So he’s not sure what exactly possesses him to buy a huge cruise ship when he’s over a hundred, getting on board and telling the crew to get going, but he doesn’t fight it. He instead goes to one of the lounges on deck, a drink clutched in one hand, and then he sits and watches the ocean as it rolls past them.

                That night, he lies in his cabin for several long hours, restless, before he finally decides to get out of bed. Forgoing shoes or socks, he patters slowly up to the top deck, and then he walks and he walks and he walks until he can’t walk anymore, because here the ship ends and the ocean begins. Carefully, he reaches out, gripping at the rail, feeling the smooth metal beneath his skin, and then he steps up onto the lowest rung, holding on tight. He then takes a deep breath, letting go with one hand to touch his shoulder, to feel the scarred and toughened skin there. So many memories, and yet this is all that remains.

                But if he closes his eyes, if he just relaxes and allows the wind to blow against his face—Tony can imagine his warm presence here behind him, one hand outstretched and telling him to _wait_.

                He’s had a good life, he thinks. And it all started here.

                Tony smiles to himself, and then he steps down and goes back to bed.

 

In the end, Tony walks with his head held high and his shoulders thrown back, striding down the corridor with purpose. He reaches a door and doesn’t even have to stop, because someone is there holding it open for him, and so he continues forward, finding himself at the bottom of the Grand Staircase, surrounded by throngs of people—the officer with the whistle, the crew members helping people board, Hank, Jan, the Osbornes. Tiberius. Sunset. His father. Others. And there, at the top, facing the clock—

                Somehow, he finds it in him to take the stairs one at a time, but already his breath is catching, his heart fluttering. Soon enough, he’s almost there, so close he can reach out and _touch_ if he wants to.

                And then Steve turns around, and his smile is so dazzling Tony doesn’t see the need for light anymore. “Hey,” he says, and the smile doesn’t waver one bit as he reaches out, touching Tony’s cheek. “Feels like I’ve waited here for you forever.”

                Tony can’t hold back anymore. Wordlessly, he throws himself forward, wrapping his arms tight around Steve as he kisses him for all he’s worth—and Ty, Sunset, Howard, _everyone_ —burst into applause, like this is something they’ve wanted to see their whole lives.

                No politics, Tony thinks. No guilt. No shame.

                Just him and Steve, and in the end, this is the only thing that’s ever mattered.


End file.
